


Slap Or Kiss Or: How A Childish Game Brought The Holmes Brothers Together

by LadyGlinda



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Bickering, Christmas Party, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Hair Kink, Holmes Brothers, Large Cock, M/M, Prompt Fill, Smut, holmescest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-18 14:48:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 30,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13102437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyGlinda/pseuds/LadyGlinda
Summary: Mycroft Holmes is forced to play "spin the bottle" during a Christmas party in 221B Baker Street.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tikatikox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tikatikox/gifts), [scarletmanuka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarletmanuka/gifts), [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> The idea for this story came from my dear friend Tikatikox. The boys didn’t really let me guide them into the direction you wanted the plot to go, but I hope you'll still like it, girl. Thank you for this crazy, funny prompt!

## December 24th \- Christmas Party in 221B

“No. Absolutely no.”

Sherlock grinned when his brother shook his head vehemently.

John snorted. “Oh, come on, Mycroft – don't be such a spoilsport!”

Mycroft glanced at his watch pointedly. “It's getting late anyway. I should really head home.”

“It'll be fun!” Lestrade encouraged him, and Molly nodded enthusiastically.

“You clearly had too much punch.” Mycroft shot the DI an indignant glare.

“And you too little!” John hurried to fill Mycroft's empty mug.

Mycroft rolled his eyes. “It is most childish, and I really need to glance at a report.”

“I thought you didn’t want to do that over Christmas, sir?” Anthea threw in in an innocent tone.

Sherlock grinned again when the face of his brother – who was usually impossible to deduce for him due to his intelligence – clearly said: _Traitor_!

“You can't spoil everybody's fun, Mr Holmes,” Mrs Hudson said in an admonishing tone.

It had been her idea to throw another Christmas party in 221B, and John had agreed happily and he had insisted on inviting Mycroft as well. Sherlock hadn't been too happy about the idea but had given in, and he had prepared everything together with Mrs Hudson, John and Molly. So far it had been rather nice. Everybody except for his brother was in a good mood and slightly tipsy. Phil Anderson was already pretty drunk and Sally Donovan not nearly as bitchy as usual. She whispered with Anthea most of the time.

Mycroft stood up. “You are welcome to play this silly game on your own. I…”

“Yes, we really can't demand this from Mr _So-Important_ ,” Sherlock interrupted him. “Wasn't _party pooper_ your nickname at university?”

Phil and Sally giggled but Lestrade shot him a rather exhorting look, which Sherlock ignored.

Mycroft pressed his lips together. “Keen on being kissed, Sherlock?” he asked through gritted teeth then, looking pointedly at Molly Hooper, who blushed severely and looked rather embarrassed.

Sherlock winced. _Please not..._ “Afraid of having to slap someone?” the detective shot back. He didn’t _want_ to be snappish to Mycroft. It just happened. Every time… And the other clear analogy to Sherrinford made Mycroft bite his bottom lip. Sherlock wasn't exactly proud of himself... But sometimes his brother just _begged_ for being snarled at… Actually always…

“Just one round, Mycroft,” Lestrade said soothingly. “It won't get out of hand.”

Mycroft slowly sat down again. “Alright. We'll let someone slap me and then I'll leave you to your fun.”

He sounded… _resigned_ , Sherlock thought. And he looked tired. Always on duty, at least in his mind. Never relaxing… Never up to taking it easy. Always expecting the worst. Well, this was not so wrong most of the times…

They had not seen or heard much from each other since Sherrinford. Mycroft had taken care of securing Eurus permanently, and he had accompanied Sherlock once, along with their parents, to listen to Sherlock and Eurus playing a duet on their violins, which had soothed Mummy and Father. But he had not once shown up in Baker Street to give Sherlock a case or get on his nerves otherwise, and he had always answered very brusquely when Sherlock had texted him.

Sherlock had sometimes thought that this horrible situation in the prison with both of them willing to sacrifice themselves for the other one should have changed their _difficult relationship_ to the better. But it hadn't. Now Mycroft even avoided him as it seemed. Yes, he had to feel silly for not believing Sherlock and John when they had said they'd had contact with Eurus, and for not being able to shoot the governor and for just bringing them into danger like this. He was probably feeling ashamed, and Sherlock had no idea how he could get through to him even though he really wanted it.

He tried his best to reach his still not-speaking sister without making any progress, and now it seemed he had also lost the last bit of connection he'd had with his brother… Well, of course he never said anything nice to him. Except for telling him that he had liked his Lady Bracknell right before having to fear to be blown up. Apart from this, all he ever did was snarl at him… And he had to admit the texts he had sent his brother recently had not been all that nice, either. He just couldn’t help it.

He took another gulp from the too-sweet punch. It was Christmas. Not the time to dwell on depressing thoughts… He wanted to have fun tonight with his friends and the one part of his family that was here with him. And perhaps the _slap or kiss_ -game with spinning the bottle would even make Mycroft smile. Well, one could always hope…

“Who says everybody wants to slap you, brother?” Sherlock asked Mycroft. When the older man just grimaced, he turned to the doctor. “Get a water bottle from the kitchen, John. It should spin best.”

*****

"So, listen Mycroft – these are the exact rules." John Watsons sounded drunk, and the politician rolled his eyes. He could be at home now, in his comfortable, quiet, sophisticated _(lonely)_ house, enjoying a read and a drink of quality instead of being tortured by drunk people, cheep punch – and he had smelled rather suspiciously at it, remembering last Christmas – and childish games. Why the hell had he come here? To develop a better contact with his brother – as of course he was only here because of Sherlock. Which was a joke – Sherlock was his snarky best and showed his despise for him as clearly as ever. It was tiring for Mycroft. And sad...

"We'll all sit down on the floor – hey, don't glare at me, you can have a pillow so you won't hurt your precious butt and soil your pretty suit" (everybody laughed and Mycroft felt his cheeks flush) "and then someone starts and spins the bottle." He held it up. "The spinner will then leave the room, and everybody except for the one the bottle points at will vote if the spinner gets slapped or kissed by this person. Kissed on the mouth to be precise! A real kiss! Doesn’t have to be a tongue-kiss even though this would be the funniest, but no pecks on the cheek here! Then the spinner will be called back in and gets it. Then the next one in the row will spin the bottle. Very easy."

And very predictable... Whoever Mycroft would _choose_ with the bottle would slap him... And Mycroft could only hope that it wouldn't be John himself. He had seen the damage the doctor's fist could do and he knew how little John liked him... And oh, Mrs Hudson would have a field day if she was allowed to finally show him how much she despised him! But what if he picked Anthea? She wouldn't dare slap her boss, would she? Or Lestrade! The policeman was way too decent for that. Not that he would want to kiss Mycroft... Or that Mycroft wanted to be kissed by anyone in this room! He shuddered at the thought. He didn't kiss. Anybody. Ever. Well, of course he had kissed a few men in his life but not in the last couple of years. And what if he had to kiss Mrs Hudson?! He would _die_...

"And you know – the one the bottle points at doesn't get a say!" John stressed. "He has to obey to the decision of the majority. No matter who it is he has to slap or kiss."

Mycroft looked over to Anthea, and she grinned. She grinned! Mycroft sighed. "Alright then. I understood the stupid rules. Can we get it over with now?"

Sherlock chuckled. "You really can't wait!" He stood up and took a pillow. "Sit down on this one.” He threw it in Mycroft's direction, and he caught it. “John, let's find some more. The carpet is not that thick."

 _Or clean_ , Mycroft thought. He sighed again and sat down, very uncomfortably due to his long legs. And why had he put on a suit at all?! Nobody was wearing one. Had everybody except him known about this game? None of the women had put on a dress! He only realised this now and grimly thought that they had obviously lured him into this nasty situation on purpose. Not even Sherlock was wearing a suit but his purple shirt and rather tight, black jeans that didn't look overly comfortable to sit on the floor in them, either, as Mycroft had to admit.

"Okay," John said with a wide grin when everybody was sitting in a circle. "Who wants to start?"

"Me, please!" A certain pathologist, sitting directly next to Mycroft, was looking very excited.

Of course... Molly Hooper. She would do anything to spin the bloody bottle at Sherlock so she would finally get a real kiss from him. Mycroft was rather sure she hadn't so far. As far as he knew, Sherlock didn't kiss anyone, either. But he had told her that he loved her... Sure, Molly had forced him to say it first, but he had sounded pretty convincing when he had said it for the second time... And then his rage with destroying the damn coffin... But Mycroft could not see that his brother showed any special affection towards her. He seemed rather indifferent in her presence. For whatever reason this pleased him.

Molly grabbed the bottle and spun it, and she seemed to pray when she followed its motions. Mycroft stared at it as well, fascinated against his will. And then the tip clearly pointed at Greg Lestrade, and everybody screamed in excitement. Except for Molly, who looked expectantly disappointed, and the DI himself, who had red cheeks all at once. And Sherlock – he was just grinning and took a sip of this nasty punch. He was clearly not drunk, in opposite to Anderson, who almost fell over from giggling.

"Okay, Molly," John said with a wide grin. "Go outside now and wait for me to call you back in."

She nodded shyly and slipped out of the room after gracefully getting at her feet. Mycroft wondered how long it would take him to unfold his legs and get up... And depending on the order, he would be either the next one to spin the bottle or the very last one. If he was the last one, his legs would probably cramp until he had to leave the room, and he would have real problems to stand up. He could imagine Sherlock's comments...

"Slap!" came from Donovan.

Mycroft didn't like this woman. He didn't know her personally, but he knew she worked with Lestrade, built a couple with Phil Anderson _(shudder)_ and didn't like his brother very much. In fact she had been one of the people who had insisted on believing that he was a criminal, forcing him to fake his death and stay away from his family for two bloody years. He really hoped her bottle spin would be at him... But considering his luck, he would probably have to kiss her... He should have brought a sick bag...

"Kiss!" came from John and Mrs Hudson simultaneously.

"Kiss," Anthea chose calmly. Then she looked at Mycroft. "Sir?"

Mycroft sighed. He didn't give a damn if Lestrade kissed her or slapped her boring face. He looked at the DI to find out what he preferred. "Kiss," he decided then.

Anderson laughed like a maniac. "Kiss!"

This brought him a glare by his girlfriend. Mycroft could imagine their relationship pretty well. He probably only dared oppose her because he was drunk, and he would surely pay for it soon. But then – he was in all probability used to it.

Sherlock nodded. "Definitely kiss then." His grin was cheery.

Well, for sure he had no interest in Miss Hooper. Or Lestrade… Wasn’t it rather depressing that Mycroft couldn’t even say if his own brother was hetero- or homosexual? Despite the forsaken Adler-episode, Mycroft still tended to think he was gay. But he was in no way sure. Another proof of how little he really knew about his little brother. Of course Sherlock probably didn’t know that Mycroft was a hundred percent homosexual himself. Not that he would care…

Greg cleared his throat. "Alright..."

John grinned and headed to the door to let Molly back in.

Mycroft watched her while taking another gulp from the liquid torture instrument. She looked shyly at the DI, who had stood up and was grinning sheepishly.

When she had reached him, she raised her head to look into his eyes and took a deep breath.

“Ready?” John asked, and both nodded. “And – action!” He giggled like a maniac. Rosie had been put to bed two hours earlier, and without the child around, the doctor seemed more relaxed. He had even laid his hand on Sherlock's shoulder when he had brought Donovan another pillow because she had complained about her hurting bottom. Mycroft knew he would never like the man…

It was over in a second. Greg Lestrade moved forward and placed a shy peck onto the pathologist's lips. It was enough to make them both blush severely.

“Oh, more!” Anderson demanded.

John nodded. “Really! You can do better than this! We want to see a real kiss here!”

Mycroft froze. This was getting worse and worse… He wondered what the straight men in the room would do if they had to kiss another man… He didn’t even want to imagine having to kiss anybody here, but he prayed that if he did, it would be Lestrade. He didn't want anything from him but: who else? He would jump out of the window if he had to lip-lock with Mrs Hudson… or ugly-bearded Phil Anderson… And God – Anthea! It would be bad enough if either of them had to slap the other one, but he could never look into her eyes again if they had to kiss… Actually he hoped for not having this forsaken bottle pointing at him at all and for getting slapped by whomever he directed it at. And then he would go home and get a real drink and he would avoid every future party in this house…

Both Molly and Greg seemed hesitant to kiss again, but then they did, this time for about five seconds, and everybody hooted. Well, Sherlock didn't. But he grinned and gave Lestrade _thumbs up_ when he sat down again with a dark red head. Molly looked dazed and rather happy, Mycroft realised. Of course he didn’t give a damn about such stuff, but if asked he would have said that he guessed the DI and the pathologist, who had known each other for ages, would make a decent couple. At least they would always have something to talk about: dead bodies…

“I'm next!” Anderson screamed and took the bottle, and this meant that Mycroft's turn would be the last. The torture would go on a little more…

The bottle spun and spun, and then it stopped at Sally Donovan. The laughter was loud, and after Anderson had stumbled out of the room, giggling like a very ugly schoolgirl, everybody - including the policewoman herself - said: _slap!_

Mycroft had to admit it was slightly amusing when John called the forensic scientist back in and he received a slap that echoed from the walls. The man just giggled and asked if this was all she could pull off, and she hit him again, which led to loud laughter, and even Mycroft's mouth twitched a little. This game did have its funny sides he had to admit.

His amusement increased when Mrs Hudson's bottle spin chose Molly Hooper and after two broken-off attempts, the younger woman very carefully slapped the old hag's face. Of course Mycroft had voted for slapping. Well, who would have wanted to _kiss_ the granny? He was very happy that she hadn't let the bottle pointing at him. But it could still happen – _he_ could pick _her_ …  But he was sure if this happened, everybody would vote for slapping. Mrs Hudson would _pay_ for being allowed to punch him… Which would of course be a lot better than the alternative. And how hard could this fragile, old witch hit him at all? He didn't doubt she would give her best though… But he would certainly survive this, while he wasn’t sure he could say the same about the other, unthinkable possibility.

He had been punished enough by Lady Smallwood's advances – it still amazed him that such a smart woman had not gotten that he was gay. He had given some very clear hints to her over the years – and she had still tried to make a move on him, even when she had still been married. In the end he had told her that he was only interested in men even though he had wanted to avoid this to not make their working relationship more difficult than it had already been… She had not been amused and spared him any more invitations to have drinks with her, which he had been very grateful for.

After the two women had embraced and giggled together, it was Anthea's turn, and to Mycroft's relief, the bottle said Greg Lestrade had the honour again. It was little surprising for him that the majority voted for a kiss. Except for Molly Hooper and Sally Donovan (who voted for slapping every time…). Molly didn’t look very happy when the DI and Mycroft's PA kissed, and Mycroft looked away in embarrassment. He didn’t need to see that. He had been surprised that Sherlock and John had invited Anthea in the first place, but they had probably done it because of the lack of women (as Donovan hardly counted as one; she seemed to be no less tough than any of the men in this room and a lot tougher than her own boyfriend…).

The doctor was the next one. He spun the bottle with force, and it turned around a couple of times until it pointed at Sherlock.

“Slap!” Mycroft said, for the first time the first one who gave his vote. It wasn't that he didn't want to see his brother kiss the doctor – _of course_ he didn’t want that; in fact he didn't want to see _anyone_ kiss -  but it would be the perfect opportunity for Sherlock to pay back John Watson a little of the violence he had received from him.

Molly – of course – and Donovan – of course! – voted for _slap_ , too, but to Mycroft's surprise, everybody else chose the kiss, even Lestrade, and, sadly enough, Anthea.

Mrs Hudson beamed at Sherlock, and Mycroft knew what she was thinking: it was the perfect opportunity to make them get together. She had always thought they either were a secret couple or needed to be one.

Sherlock looked as if he had been slapped instead. “No, please. Don't force me to do that. We will never be a couple!” He had clearly deduced the thoughts of the other players.

“No, no, the chosen person does not get a say in it – it's the rules!” Mrs Hudson insisted.

Anderson laughed again. “Yes, we want to finally see you making kissy-kissy!”

Mycroft would have loved to slap him – really hard…

Sherlock sighed. “Alright. But I don't want to hear we should kiss deeper. Not going to happen!”

When the doctor came back, he looked as if he already expected the kiss-decision. And he didn't look unhappy about it. Mycroft didn’t like it. He would never understand Sherlock's forgiveness towards John and his - luckily deceased - bitch of a wife. His younger brother had experienced violence from both of them, had in fact almost lost his life because of this woman, and instead of distancing himself from them at least, he had killed someone for them. And John had shown his gratitude for Sherlock's shooting of Magnussen by hurting him again, and even worse this time. If Sherlock hadn't been so fond of him – and Mycroft would never get why – he would have disappeared after that. And his bloody wife would have died long before she indeed had. In any way Mycroft didn’t think John was good for Sherlock, and he really hoped this kiss wouldn’t make them getting even closer together.

Sherlock didn’t look overly happy, but he grabbed John's shoulders and brushed a kiss on his ugly, thin lips. Or better he obviously did it, because the others clapped and laughed. Mycroft didn’t look at them. He just couldn’t endure it.

John grinned stupidly when they had broken apart. “Wow, Sherlock – this was some nice, juicy kiss! And now it's your turn!”

It was indeed, and Mycroft tensed. And he was rather glad when the bottle chose Mrs Hudson.

“Kiss,” he said with a wide grin as soon as the door had closed behind his brother.

Mrs Hudson glared at him.

“What?” he asked with raised eyebrows. “Why would I want you to hit my dear brother?”

“You just want to punish him for making you play this game!” she snarled.

Oh, she was not so silly after all! “Oh, why would I? I'm enjoying it.” He smiled at her.

But in the end the majority decided that she had to slap Sherlock. When the detective came back, he saw at once what he had to expect.

He just grinned (probably he was very relieved…). “Alright, Mrs Hudson; let's get it over with.”

“Oh, I just can't!” She hid her face behind her palm.

“You must!” the doctor insisted. “Just think of all the nasty experiments and the fingers in the fridge, the head in the microwave, the horse-penis in…”

_Slap!_

“Ouch!” Sherlock rubbed his cheek with a grin. “You did very well!”

The old woman giggled. “Sorry, dear. But this horse-cock was really nasty!”

Everybody jeered and Mycroft shook his head. His brother experimented with animal-genitals? He still mused about that when Donovan spun the bottle – and picked her grey-haired boss.

“Kiss,” Sherlock said, and Mycroft nodded.

“Definitely.” Lestrade had already kissed Miss Hooper and Anthea – why not Donovan, too?

But everybody else was for slapping, and so the embarrassed-looking DI slapped the sharp-tongued woman in the face. She didn’t even wince and her expression clearly said that Greg Lestrade hit like a little girl. But she was not drunk enough to say it loud.

The detective inspector was the next one to play the game – and picked Phil Anderson…

“Kiss,” was Mycroft's vote.

“You can't even _look_ at people kissing!” Mrs Hudson quipped.

“This time I will,” Mycroft assured her.

Sherlock chuckled. “Kiss,” he agreed, and so did most of the others.

So they witnessed another, extremely awkward and therefore highly amusing same-sex kiss, and Mycroft poured down the rest of his punch. Now it was his turn… He would get it over with and then finally head home to relax. It had been more fun than he had expected, but he had enough of being around other people.

He wondered what he had to expect now. The bottle had spared him every time but now there was no escape. Whatever happened, he would take it like the important, powerful man that he was. He spun the bottle hard, and it turned and turned until it pointed at - Sherlock.

Everybody screamed, and Mycroft sighed. “I can as well stay here.” Because he knew Sherlock died for slapping him. Probably he would punch him so hard that he knocked him out…

John made a silly gesture with is forefinger. “No, no, Mycroft – go outside like everybody else.”

Mycroft sighed again. “If you insist on it.” It took him a moment to get on his feet after sitting in this uncomfortable position for way too long, and he moaned involuntarily when he finally stood on his aching legs.

Sherlock gave him an amused look and Mycroft bit his lip. Perhaps he should ask for some painkillers after the slap… His brother had become very broad over the past two years…

*****

Sherlock watched his brother leave the room. “I don't see why you did send him out, John. There's not even a question that I'll have to…”

“Kiss him!” he heard from everybody around him except for Mrs Hudson and Lestrade, who both said _slap him!_

He straightened up. “Sorry what? You got to be kidding me! You can't seriously expect me to kiss my own brother on the mouth!”

“Really,” Lestrade said with a nod. “This is not fair. We could make Mycroft spin the bottle again.”

“No way – the rules are clear! Picked is picked and the majority decides!” John insisted.

“What rules, John?!” Sherlock retorted. “ _We_ make the rules. It's our game. I'm not going to kiss him.” And neither did he want to slap him, but he didn’t say it. It had been nice to see Mycroft cheer up during the indeed childish game even though he had been rather mocking most of the time. But he had seemed to be feeling better than usual – less alone. Sherlock still wanted a better relationship with him, and he would certainly not get it by slapping him in the face even though Mycroft clearly expected it and had not seemed to be too offended. But this was still better than kissing him… “I will slap him or…”

“No. You will kiss him!” Molly said.

“Why on earth should _you_ want that?” he couldn’t refrain from asking, and he could hear how hard his voice sounded.

She blushed severely. “He doesn't like me,” she said quietly.

“Oh, I see! You want him to get punished and you think it's worse to be kissed by me than slapped?” _Not if I kissed_ you _of course! Dream on…_

“Listen, guys – there is nothing to discuss. He picked you, and we said you had to kiss him.” John's face was dark now and Molly and Anderson nodded, and Sherlock gave in.

“Alright, John,” he said very quietly. “Ask him in.” He didn’t want to argue now and spoil everybody's fun. And he didn’t want John to get upset. The truce between them was still rather fresh. Mycroft would splutter and curse him, but it couldn’t really make their relationship any worse, could it? In the end Mycroft knew he didn’t have a choice…

The doctor's face lightened up. “Great! But don't let him see what you're about! Pretend to slap him!”

“We didn’t do that with anyone else,” Sherlock protested.

“Yeah, because anyone else was more or less surprised by the decision. He will deduce it at once if you don't fool him. And he will not let you do it if he realises it before.”

Sherlock wasn’t sure he could fool his brother. Mycroft was too smart for it. And if he refused to get kissed by Sherlock, it would solve the problem…

John shook his head. “Now even I can see what you think! You must kiss him so you will have to make sure he doesn't get it before.”

Sherlock knew he would never play this game again. It had been a totally stupid idea. But he had not expected this outcome in the least. He nodded. “Go ahead,” he said in a flat voice. They would both survive it…

He plastered on a slightly grim expression when Mycroft came back into the room. Then he gave his brother a smile that probably said he couldn’t wait to hit him. Everybody was very quiet and all eyes were on Sherlock.

Mycroft looked rather sad and, again, resigned. “Well, I'm ready.”

 _No, you're not… And neither am I…_ When Mycroft was standing right in front of him, Sherlock made a move backwards with his right arm as if to strike out, and Mycroft swallowed and closed his eyes, which made it much easier. Sherlock quickly grabbed the back of his head with his left hand and pulled him in, using his right hand now to hold him in place by grabbing his shoulder. Mycroft stiffened and opened his eyes widely, suddenly understanding what was about to happen. Apparently terrified that people could be so cruel to sentence him to an incestuous kiss, he opened his mouth, certainly for protesting, and Sherlock was about to tell him to shut up involuntarily without stopping his movement, and so when their lips made contact, their mouths were both open and their tongues met for a split second.

It hit Sherlock like an electric shock. He had not felt anything by kissing his flatmate on the closed mouth nor had he in the least reacted to Janine's one-sided kissing; he had never allowed their tongues to meet. But now that it accidentally happened with his brother – his _brother_!!! – the feeling was overwhelming. It was like an explosion of stars in his _(heart)_ head and like a cocaine shot of the finest sort. He tasted the punch and the potato salad they had eaten, and he tasted his brother, and it made all his nerves vibrate like never before.

He could have lied to himself and thought that he had never kissed anyone like this in the end – probably he would have reacted to a however short tongue-kiss with any handsome man in the same way – certainly not with any woman as he was gay like Mycroft was. But as he analysed himself at once like he always did, he knew that he wouldn’t have, that he could go out there and get the most beautiful male stranger into kissing him and would feel nothing, and it terrified him to no end.

And he saw in Mycroft's blue eyes with the now widely blown pupils, just for one second, the same reaction.

Sherlock tumbled backwards, letting his brother go, and Mycroft, whose breath was elevated, cleared his throat. “Um, well, that was… I… I need to go now.” He stumbled away. “Merry Christmas.” And then he ran out of the room, and a moment later, the door of 221B was opened and closed.

The room was silent for several seconds while Sherlock was desperately trying to not let his shock show.

“Fuck, Sherlock,” John finally said, sounding completely sober. “I'm sorry. This was a bit not good…”

“He said _Merry Christmas_!” Mrs Hudson whispered. “He must be so shaken, the poor man!”

Anthea just looked very worried and took out her phone.

Anderson blinked like a deer in the headlights and Donovan emptied her mug with a grim expression.

Lestrade patted Sherlock's shoulder. “Are you okay, mate?”

Molly took his hand. “It was really bad, wasn’t it?”

Sherlock only craved for being alone to think about what just had happened. Because whatever it had been, it had happened to his brother in the same way…

He was shaken to the bone. And still - was this really so surprising? He had always been out of place, too intelligent for his own good and for everybody else out there; his life was the opposite of being normal – why should it amaze him that he - who had never been interested in physical contact with anyone - almost fainted by kissing his own brother?

“I'll go into my room,” he said tonelessly and left the living room. When he walked through the corridor, he stood. Mycroft had forgotten his umbrella! Yes – it _had_ deeply shaken him… Sherlock picked the black utensil up and took it with him into his bedroom before Anthea could see it and bring it back to Mycroft.

Sherlock wanted to do that himself. Because he knew all the thinking and analysing he could and would do wouldn’t change one fact: he wanted another kiss, and he wanted it from his brother.


	2. Chapter 2

## December 27th

 

###  _The Cabinet Office_

 

“Good morning,” Mycroft said when he passed by Anthea's desk. “Is everything ready for the morning meeting?”

“Of course, sir. Oh, where…”

“I must have left it in Baker Street.” He knew what she meant. On his hectic flight out of his brother's flat, he had not thought of taking his umbrella. He had realised it as soon as he had stood outside of the house, but he had not had the courage to go back in and fetch it. He just couldn't have done that.

In fact he had taken a cab home, had fetched a few things and had gone straight to a small flat they used for top secret meetings, and he had switched off his phone for the next two days after answering Anthea's concerned text by telling her that he was fine and she should enjoy her Christmas. He had ordered Indian and Italian food on the next two days along with an expensive bottle of his favourite whiskey. He had needed it… The weather had been beautiful – cold and sunny – on both days, but he hadn't set a foot outside anymore.

“Are you… alright, sir?” Anthea asked him cautiously when she brought his morning tea to his desk.

“Of course,” he said in a calmness he wasn't feeling. “I will start with the reports now. Can you please call Sir Edwin and say I need to speak to him about the Windham matter in half an hour?”

“Right away, sir.” She gave him a smile that couldn’t hide her concern and then she left him alone.

Mycroft leaned back in his high chair when he had opened the daily report from the MI5. He took a sip of his tea. And thought of Sherlock…

A glance at his phone when he had gotten up this morning had told him that his brother had not tried to contact him. It had given him a sting of disappointment he didn’t like to admit even to himself, but probably Sherlock was just as shocked as he was, and at least he had not mocked Mycroft for running away. But how could he have stayed? After this… whatever it had been.

It had shaken him through and through. It still did. It shouldn’t have been such a big deal – many siblings kissed each other on the lips. Of course he and Sherlock had never done that and neither of them was used to kissing other people, either, but this reaction was not justified by the awkwardness of having to kiss, not even of kissing each other. It had been such a brief contact, their tongues tipping against each other for so short it shouldn’t have made any impression – but God, it had… He had tasted the punch and the food and the cigarette Sherlock had smoked after dinner and the unique taste of Sherlock… It had made his brain spin around like this forsaken bottle, it had caused his heart to pull together in a way he had never experienced before, and the worst part was that it had made a part of his anatomy he only touched when it was inevitable getting plump. He could only hope nobody had seen that before he had left while stammering like a fool.

And Sherlock? He had apparently felt the same. After being totally calm when he had pulled away from John, he had looked as if he was in shock after this accidental tongue-kiss. Mycroft didn’t know if he had gotten hard as well – he had not looked down there. He didn’t know whether Sherlock had made any sexual experiences at all, and he had not been sure about his sexual orientation. Now he was rather certain he was also gay, if he had done anything with this bloody Adler woman or not. Mycroft knew she was not dead, and it had made him very upset to learn that nobody else than Sherlock had saved her life… But whatever it had been that had made Sherlock do this and whatever physical contact he might have had with her – Mycroft was pretty certain that it had not affected him like this kiss between him and Mycroft had.

Mycroft had kissed men before. Not in recent years, but he had. He'd had sex with a few men – at the university and later with carefully picked strangers he had never seen again after a one-time-encounter. He had experienced physical joy with them to some extent, but it had never meant anything in any emotional sort of way, and certainly he had never been close to passing out when he had kissed them. He had done that only because it was a part of having sex, not because he had overly liked it. Exchanging saliva with men who didn’t mean anything to him was not on the top of his list of priorities, but it wasn't good manners or exactly smart to tell this someone you wanted to give you a blowjob…

What had happened in this moment between him and Sherlock? He had not wanted to think about it, had wanted to forget it as soon as possible, but in fact he had thought about nothing else since it had occurred. Whenever he had closed his eyes, the picture of Sherlock's wide open eyes had popped up in his mind. His pupils had been completely dilated and he had looked every bit as disturbed as Mycroft had felt. But that couldn’t mean that he wanted anything from him… How should he?! They were siblings, and sometimes it seemed like yesterday that Mycroft had held his baby brother on his lap and comforted him after he had fallen and hurt his knee, or that they had made experiments of all sorts together or had tried to surpass the other one by making deductions.

Once Sherlock had started growing into a man, they had drifted apart and never found back to each other. Sherlock despised Mycroft for being – in his opinion – tight-arsed and cold, humourless and simply ridiculous. And Mycroft did have his problems to accept the way his brother lived – permanently on the edge.

And still Sherlock had not shot him in Sherrinford… He had even told him he had liked his Lady Bracknell…

Mycroft shook his head about himself. That didn’t mean anything and it definitely didn’t mean Sherlock liked him now. Of course he didn’t. He was as nasty to him as ever.

Whatever had happened at this bloody party, whatever strange physical reaction it had caused both of them, he had to shake it off and delete it from his brain. Sherlock had certainly done that already, which was why he had not tried to contact him afterwards.

It was completely stupid to still waste a thought on it.

He drank up his tea and finally concentrated on his report.

*****

Mycroft stretched his back when he came out of the last meeting on this insanely busy day. He had hurried from one appointment to the other one and more than once he had been asked if he had lost his umbrella… The worst part of the day had been though that one MI6 agent was apparently working as well for another nation – they had narrowed it down to three young men and a woman. Mycroft was pretty sure that he knew who exactly it was but for a reason he didn’t understand and didn’t even question, he had hold his opinion back and said he would make sure to find the traitor within two days.

Slowly he walked towards his office. He was surprised that Anthea was still sitting at her desk. And when she smiled with a hint of insecurity at him when he walked by, he knew he had a visitor in his office. And his PA would only let one person into it when he wasn’t there.

“Your brother is waiting for you, sir. He has brought your umbrella.”

Hadn't he secretly waited all day for this? He could have sent someone to Baker Street to get it but he hadn't done it. Neither had he even tried to delete this impossible moment from his mind – not that he was certain that he would have been able to do that at all. It had affected a lot more than just his brain in the end…

And why had Sherlock not just handed the umbrella over to Anthea and left again? Even though Mycroft was aware that the fact that his brother had shown up _at all_ to give it back to him was even more amazing… He was very sure that without this damn game Sherlock wouldn't have wasted one thought on doing this.

He was so not ready to see him… But of course he didn’t have a choice.

“Fine,” he said as calmly as he could. “You can leave now. I'll be on my way in a couple of minutes as well. Tomorrow morning I will need you rather early though.”

“Of course, sir, good night then.”

“Good night.” He gave her a small smile, and then he took a deep breath and entered his office.

Sherlock was sitting in the visitor's chair and turned around when Mycroft closed the door behind him. “Oh, hello,” he said and his eyes flickered. “Um… I've brought you your umbrella.”

“That was very considerate of you,” Mycroft said stiffly. “I'm sorry I left it and caused you the inconvenience of coming here.”

“I… actually came to your house the last two days. You were away?”

“Oh, yes… Emergency at work,” Mycroft lied, unable to meet his gaze.

Sherlock nodded. “Sure.”

“Sorry I didn’t let you know,” Mycroft said and finally sat down in his chair. As Sherlock didn’t make any attempt at getting up, he could not just stand around like the fool he felt he was. He was so bloody nervous, and took so much effort to not show it to Sherlock. He knew Sherlock couldn’t deduce him most of the times, and as wound up Sherlock was himself, he probably wasn’t able to do it now. Mycroft could only hope for it because all he wanted to do was grabbing Sherlock's head and kiss him, and this fact scared him to no end. This man was his bloody brother! There was no way in hell they could do that again!

He didn’t say anything, and neither did Sherlock. He could feel Sherlock's gaze on his face, but he rummaged in the papers on his desk. In the end he forced himself to close his shields as thoroughly as he could and met Sherlock's look. “Is there anything else I can do for you?” He could have bitten off his tongue as soon as he had said it. Could he be any more stupid?

But Sherlock didn’t say: _yes – kiss me again!_ even though he probably wanted it. Why else had he come here?

Instead he stood up, looking defeated. “No, it's fine. I'll go then.”

The sadness in his voice went straight into Mycroft's heart. “I can give you a lift,” he offered quietly.

Sherlock's eyes brightened up but then his shoulders slumped down again. “No, I'm fine. See you soon then.” He turned to leave and was gone before Mycroft could react.

He stared at the closed door for a long time.

 

###  _Baker Street_

 

Sherlock walked all the long way back to Baker Street. It was dark and freezing cold but he didn’t care. Why had he come here at all? Had he really expected his brother to do anything with him again? Was he mad? He had deduced his reaction totally incorrectly. Mycroft had only looked shocked about this damn kiss – he hadn't felt the same way about it. And even if he had, Sherlock should have known he would never repeat this. It had been a physical reaction, nothing more, and it was forbidden to act on this. And of all people Mycroft Holmes, the fucking British Government, should do anything that could be considered, well not exactly _incest_ but certainly inappropriate with him? Probably he had just had too much punch…

Why had he tried to get another kiss? What would it prove? He just had to accept that his body had reacted in a very weird way. Well – in the end he was a weirdo so it was fitting…

It took him almost two hours to get home. When he entered the flat, John was sitting in his armchair. “Fuck, Sherlock – where have you been? Your nose looks as if it's about to fall off! It's minus degrees out there!”

Sherlock didn’t even stop walking. “I'm fine.”

John cleared his throat and followed him into the kitchen. “Did you… did you bring Mycroft his umbrella?”

“Yes.” Sherlock filled the kettle. His hands were red and stiff and he almost let the cup fall onto the floor.

“And how is he?” John sounded guilty. He had apologised several times to Sherlock for forcing him to kiss Mycroft.

“Fine.”

“Really?”

Sherlock finally turned around to him. “Why should that bother you? You’ve always hated him.”

“Well, so have you but it's clear that you don't anymore.”

“I've never hated him. We just have…”

“… a difficult relationship; yes, I know that.” John kneaded his left hand.

“And this bloody game didn’t make it any better. You even forced me to misguide him so he had no chance to back away. So please don't pretend now that you give a fuck about how he is doing.”

“But it was just a kiss! We kissed, too, and neither of us was terrified by it. It was just for fun!”

“Well, in opposite to Mycroft and me, we are not related, John,” Sherlock retorted and prepared the tea. “It meant nothing to me to kiss you.” He froze. The conclusion was easy to draw…

But John just nodded. “Yes. I'm sorry, Sherlock. I know I've said it before but it's clear you haven't forgiven me.”

“There's nothing to forgive. It was a game and it was stupid. Mycroft and I will survive it. I don't want to talk about it anymore.” Because nothing had changed. And nothing ever would…

 

## December 28th – Baker Street

 

“This was fun!” John took off his gloves and grinned.

“I guess the dead woman wouldn’t agree on this.” Sherlock slipped out of his warm jacket and hung it up.

“Yeah, you know what I mean. We didn’t have such an interesting case for ages. Even Donovan was impressed by your deductions.”

Sherlock grimaced. “Only slightly. But at least she doesn’t call me _freak_ anymore…”

“I wonder about their sex life…” John mused. “Phil's and Sally's I mean.”

Sherlock raised his eyebrows and stalked into the living room. “Really John – you need a new girlfriend.” He didn’t even want to imagine the two of them in bed or wherever their nasty couplings took place.

“Ah, I don't know. I don't think I'm ready for that.”

“You seem to need to fuck though when you waste your time by thinking of them going at it.”

“Sherlock!” The doctor was clearly shocked.

“What, John? Don't want to hear the truth?”

“Since when do you use such words?”

“Well, you called me a _dick_ a few times. Wouldn’t have thought this is more sophisticated…”

“But you never talk like this! Why now?”

_Because now I think of getting physical for the first time in my life. And guess with whom, John? But don't worry – never going to happen._

“Care to make tea for us?” Sherlock asked instead of answering, trying to keep the sadness about Mycroft's indirect rejection from his voice. If John was more intelligent, he would have understood. But there was no danger.

“Sure. Earl Grey?”

“Yes.” Sherlock took out his phone after throwing himself into his armchair. He scrolled through his texts. But he hadn't missed one of his brother. He wondered if Mycroft would ever contact him again. Probably he would avoid him now forever. Well – it would be for the better.

John had just brought the tea along with some biscuits Mrs Hudson had bought when the doorbell rang. Sherlock's heart made a jump. He knew who this was…

“I'll go open up,” John said. Sherlock leaned back in his chair, waiting for…

_“Oh, hi Mycroft! Ooh, it's cold, isn’t it?”_

John clearly didn’t know how to deal with the politician now. But Mycroft had an expression of indifference on his rosy face when he stepped into the sitting room. “Cold indeed. Hello Sherlock.”

“Brother.” Sherlock hid his excitement behind his own mask of calmness.

“I just made tea and there's hot water left. Would you like some?” John offered to Sherlock's surprise.

Mycroft looked rather shocked as well. “Well, yes. Thank you.”

“What brings you here in the middle of a work day? Smelled the biscuits from outside?” Sherlock bit his lip at once. He just couldn’t help it, could he?

Mycroft looked at him with a gaze as if he was about to dig in Sherlock's mind. Then he slightly smiled. “Indeed, brother mine. My overweight body craves for sugar and fat.”

He was in fact not even a bit overweight. He looked better than he had in years. Sherlock knew he liked to work out on his treadmill at home – he had inspected it when he and John had gone there to prepare the movie and the appearance of the clown and the dwarf. Mycroft clearly used this training tool a lot and it showed. Why he had said something that self-loathing and incorrect was beyond Sherlock.

“Here you go.” John handed the cup over to him.

Mycroft thanked him again. “Well, I'm here because I need your help in a delicate matter.” He had hardly finished his sentence when he blushed.

Sherlock's heart started to beat faster but he kept the mask of coolness. “Do you. What is it this time?”

“No nude pictures made by a criminal, blackmailing whore this time, don't worry.” Mycroft blushed even harder.

 _He still thinks I've slept with Irene_ , Sherlock concluded. How could such a smart man be so daft sometimes? Had he really not figured out that Sherlock was gay? _Still not_ , after what had happened between them? Sherlock had never had a sexual interest in any woman, including Irene Adler. He had considered her his female equal despite all their differences, and this had fascinated him. He knew she had been in love with him and this had happened to him for the first time, so he just couldn’t let her die. But he never texted her back even though he had lied to John and had said he would when they had touched this subject for the second time. He had only said it in order to soothe the doctor about the fact that he had texted with the woman they knew now had been Eurus. In any way Sherlock would never see Irene again, and even if he did, he wouldn’t do anything with her. But he couldn’t say this now directly…

“This is a relief,” he answered instead. “I do not crave for seeing such disgusting photographs again. Well, John liked them of course. Straight men are so easy to impress.”

“Oi!” John protested, but Sherlock didn’t look at him. He eyed Mycroft instead without really showing it, and he could see his brother's relief. Yes, he _had_ really thought Sherlock had fucked The Woman. Well – he could be sure now that Sherlock hadn't. In fact Sherlock had told him three facts with these few words: his lack of interest in Irene, John's clear heterosexuality and Sherlock's homosexuality.

Mycroft cleared his throat. “We have a traitor, a double-agent, in the MI6. We narrowed the possibilities down to four people who have not been working for us for a long time. Here are their files. Sherlock, if you could look at them and give me your opinion who you think is the one?” He handed four folders of brown carton over to Sherlock. Sherlock nodded and put them onto the table.

“I will have a look at them.” He watched John taking the files and glancing over rather big pictures and the text under each of them while he and Mycroft were drinking their tea.

“Biscuit?” he offered his brother.

Mycroft raised his eyebrows. “If I say yes, you will only tell me to not gulp it down in one piece, won't you?”

Sherlock suppressed a grin. This had been funny! He didn’t know Mycroft for making jokes, let alone about himself. “Damn – you've ruined my sentence.”

“Well, Mycroft…” John crinkled his forehead. “I think it's pretty clear who is the one.”

Sherlock was stunned. If even _John_ could say that after just looking at the files, Mycroft in all his cleverness would have figured it out after one second.

Mycroft bit his lip and didn’t answer.

John looked at Sherlock's brother, and then he swallowed. “Oh, damn, I need to go! I must… pick up Rosie from day care!”

Sherlock looked at his watch. “But you only have to be there in an hour…”

“No, um, they close up earlier today.”

John was lying. Sherlock paled. He wanted to leave them alone! But what for? Well, it was rather easy to deduce – John knew that Mycroft had just pretended to need Sherlock's help and therefore must have another reason to come here… And apparently John wanted them to be alone to do whatever Mycroft had on his mind.

“Oh, I see. Well then, John. See you later.”

“Yes… Bye, Mycroft!”

“Goodbye, Doctor Watson.” Mycroft looked a tad confused.

Half a minute later the door closed behind John and the brothers were alone.

Mycroft seemed to be terrified again. He had come here and obviously not because he needed Sherlock's detective skills and now he was afraid… And fuck – even though Sherlock had gone to Mycroft's office the day before, eager for kissing him again to find out what his feelings were about, he was shit-scared as well.

After a few seconds of a very uncomfortable silence, Mycroft stood up. “I need to go back into the office now. Let me know your opinion about the four agents, please. It… might be more to it than John has seen.”

“I'm sure it is.” Sherlock got up as well. He followed Mycroft out of the living room.

Mycroft turned around to him. “I will find the exit on my own, don't worry, Sherlock,” he said rather sharply, and Sherlock winced. Had he gotten it wrong again?

“Just need to make sure you won't end up in the kitchen and empty our fridge,” he shot back and Mycroft pressed his lips together.

“Most amusing,” he mumbled, sounding sad, and then Sherlock just grabbed the back of his head again and kissed him. He just had to do it.

Mycroft froze in shock once more, but then Sherlock felt his arms around his waist and the pressure of Mycroft's lips on his.

The stars and the impression of a strong drug shooting through his veins were back. It was an indescribable feeling and shudders went down his spine. Mycroft's lips were not parted and their tongues didn’t meet, but Sherlock could taste the tea he had just drunk and a hint of smoke on his lips. And he could feel his brother's dick stiffening against his own, and he reacted to that with getting a hard-on himself.

The kiss lasted for about fifteen seconds, and then Sherlock heard Mrs Hudson entering the house, and Mycroft pulled back. His pupils were blown so wide that Sherlock could hardly see the blue of his eyes.

The older man cleared his throat. “See you then,” he said in an unstable voice, opened the door and slipped out of the flat.

“Yes, Mycroft – see you very soon,” Sherlock mumbled to the closed door.

What was this? What kind of madness had risen up to do this to them?

Sherlock listened to the hammering of his own heart for almost a minute before he returned to the living room. Never in his life had something this confusing happened to him.

And damn – he wanted it to happen again. Again and again.

 

## December 29th 

###  _Baker Street_

 

Sherlock was sitting in his armchair and staring into nothingness when John came home with Rosie on his arm.

“Oh, I thought you wanted to go over to Mycroft and tell him about the agent?” the doctor asked cautiously when he put the little girl onto the ground.

“Texted him,” Sherlock mumbled.

“I see. What about the folders?”

They were lying on the table were Sherlock had thrown them.

“Copies. Should destroy them.”

“Listen, Sherlock…”

“No, John. Just…”

His phone rang with a call and Sherlock grabbed it so fast that he almost let it fall. But it wasn't Mycroft but Lestrade.

_“Hi, Sherlock. Do you have time? I have a man here in the morgue who…”_

“We're on our way.” Sherlock ended the connection.

“Oh, it must be a ten if you decided that so quickly!” the doctor stated.

“Haven't asked.” Sherlock put the phone into his pocket and got up to grab his coat. “Bring Rosie to Mrs Hudson.”

“The game is on, right?” John clearly knew that something totally different was going on…

“Yes,” Sherlock said in a flat tone. “It's on.”

He waited downstairs until John had handed his daughter over to their landlady. Then they went outside to hail a cab. He hardly noticed entering it as he was deep in his dark thoughts.

He had been about to go to Mycroft – officially to tell him about the agent, in reality to kiss him again - when his phone had signalised a text.

_Hello Sherlock. I'll be tied up all day, so if you figured it out, could you just give me the name? MH_

Sherlock had stared at this message for a full minute, feeling the melancholy weighing down on him. He had fantasised about going into Mycroft's office again, locking the door and putting the folders onto his desk and saying: _We both know you didn’t need my assistance on this. You came because you wanted a kiss, and it was great, wasn't it?_ And Mycroft would have said: _Yes, brother mine. And now come here._ They would have kissed, for real this time. A long, tender, _making-them-see-stars_ kiss that would have led to more.

Instead Sherlock had gotten this fucking text. It was clearly a cowardice attempt to avoid him. If Mycroft had really been too busy to see him during the day, Sherlock could have come to his house in the evening instead.

_We both know you already know who it is! Why do you run away again?! We both know why you came here! SH_

_I came because I needed confirmation. It is a very touchy subject. MH_

What a slippery was this!

_Oh, yes, indeed it is! SH_

_Sherlock! Please. Don't. We can't do anything like this again. Just give me the name. MH_

_Barney Wells. SH_

_Thank you. Please destroy the folders. They are copies. MH_

Sherlock had not answered to this. Instead he had been sitting in his chair for ages, feeling empty and… as if he was on cold turkey…

Could anyone get addicted to a kiss? Well, apparently yes. But of course it was more than the urge to feel this awesome reaction again. Sherlock wanted more. If a drug was that good, more of it would make it even better. If kissing his brother did such things to him already, what would making out with him cause in him?

But now it seemed as if he wasn’t about to find out. If Mycroft had not wanted it, he would have accepted it. Well, probably, after trying a few times more… But it was very obvious that his older brother did want it but didn’t have the balls to act on it. Sherlock had shuddered at the thought… his balls… He wanted to touch them. He wanted to stroke his brother's clearly big dick. Damn, he wanted to _suck_ said dick… All the things he had never thought about – he wanted to do them with Mycroft. Because he knew nobody would ever cause him such a reaction.

“Um, Sherlock, we are there.”

Sherlock had not noticed the cab had stopped in front of St. Bart's. He nodded and climbed out to distract himself with a case he couldn’t care less about, even if it was a twenty…

 

###  _The Morgue_

 

“Oh, hi Sherlock, John – you were here fast!” Greg beamed at them. Molly gave Sherlock a shy smile.

“Yes,” Sherlock said brusquely. He walked around the stretcher with the corpse of a good-looking young man on it without even greeting anyone.  Several stab wounds, crushed skull… It was a five at best. But still better than to sit around and cry. Not that he ever cried…

“Are you…” Lestrade started.

“I'm fine!” Sherlock snapped. Then he put his coat collar up. “His boyfriend killed him.”

“Wait a minute – _boyfriend_?!”

Sherlock glared at the DI. “Yes! _Boy_ -friend! This is when two men fuck with each other!”

Molly gasped and Lestrade narrowed his eyes. “Sherlock, don't put anything into my mouth!”

John giggled behind him and Sherlock's lips twitched. “Don't worry – my cock is tucked away perfectly…”

John laughed out loud now and a grin ghosted over Greg's face while Molly was staring at Sherlock as if she saw him for the first time. But the policeman grew serious quickly. “Listen – I have no problem whatsoever with anyone being gay! The only reason that this surprised me was that nobody knew he was homosexual. Care to explain?”

Sherlock did him the favour and patiently pointed at certain body parts and explained in detail what the victim had obviously liked to do. And the violence of the crime clearly indicated a personal motive. Molly's face became redder and redder but Lestrade seemed completely untouched. “Thank you, Sherlock. I'll get Donovan and we'll find out who his partner was.”

“Alright. Anything else I could have a look at?”

Greg was rather surprised. “Well, no. It's pretty quiet at the moment.”

Sherlock turned to the door. “If you have anything, just let us know.”

“Oh, wait – before you leave: have you spoken with your brother since Christmas?”

Sherlock stood. “Yes,” he slowly said, feeling the depression already lingering in the back of his soul.

“Is he – okay?”

“Why wouldn’t he be? Kissing me is not the worst thing that can happen to people.” He knew he shouldn’t have said this. But the hurt was crawling out of its hole and scratching at his heart.

The DI sighed. “You know what I mean. I'm still feeling so bad that we forced the both of you to do this.”

Molly spoke for the first time since the Baker Street boys had arrived. “But you were against it, Greg. You tried to talk us out of making them do it. I feel really bad. I hope it didn’t cause you any more problems with him.”

Sherlock felt so hopeless all at once. He could feel the depression pulling him into its cold, nasty arms.

John cleared his throat. “Ask me… I can only blame it on the punch. But they are both big boys. Let's go, Sherlock. I need to buy something before we head home.”

Sherlock gave him a grateful look and they walked away side by side.

“What do you have to buy, John?” he asked when they had left the hospital.

The doctor smiled and squeezed his shoulder. “Nothing, Sherlock. I just said it so we could head off.”

“Oh, sure.” At any other time he would have deduced this of course. But somehow his brain was numb. His heart was, too…

“Why don't we just go home and spend some time with each other?” John suggested. “You could teach me doing deductions.”

Sherlock winced. Like Mycroft had taught him…

“Oh, fuck, all I say leads back to him…” John said quietly.

Sherlock closed his eyes. “Listen – I don't want to talk about it…”

“Of course, I understand. But don't forget, please – whatever is going on or will be going on, it's okay with me. I will support you in every way and under every circumstance. And not only because it was my idea to play this bloody game and my fault that he had no chance to get out of it. It's because you're my best friend and you'll always be, and I want you to be happy, no matter what it takes or whom.”

Sherlock almost burst out into tears. John had never said something like this to him since Mary's death. It meant so much to him, and still of course it was for nothing, because nothing would ever happen between him and Mycroft.

“Shit, I didn’t want to depress you even more!”

Sherlock tried to pull himself together. “No, it's fine. Thank you, John. It's just… so hopeless…”

“Oh, I'm not at all sure about that, Sherlock. I wouldn’t give up hope so quickly. But come, let's get a cab and then we'll just relax, and maybe even someone will come and give us a nice case to take care of!”

Yes, a juicy case would be the best Sherlock could hope for now…

 

###  _Baker Street_

 

No client was waiting for them when they got home, and Sherlock slipped out of his coat, wondering how he should pass this day. He didn’t want to make any experiments, he didn’t care for reading anything and he didn’t have the slightest wish to visit his sister.

John cleared his throat. “Perhaps we could play a game?”

Sherlock whirled around. “A game?!”

John paled. “Oh! No! Not that kind of game! Just something funny and…” his voice died.

Sherlock forced himself to calm down. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you. But…”

In this moment he heard the unmistakable noise of a knocker getting straightened, followed by the doorbell.

John opened his eyes widely. “That's him!”

The detective was close to panicking. “You must go!” He opened the front door by pressing the button.

“Yes, yes!” John already put on his jacket. “I'll just tell him the same like Lestrade.”

“Be believable! He will go at once if he suspects that you know…” He broke off.

In fact John didn’t really know anything; he just guessed it. And what exactly _was_ going on anyway? But there was no time to think it through now.

John already opened the door and slipped outside. “Oh, hello Mycroft,” Sherlock heard him say in a completely innocent tone. The doctor had learned a few things from Sherlock in the end.

“Good afternoon. Is Sherlock at home?”

“Yes, we just returned from the morgue. And I gotta buy something for Rosie. See you.”

“Yes, Doctor Watson.” Mycroft sounded totally calm. And rather sad.

He was not here to kiss him, Sherlock realised the second he saw his brother. He had come to tell Sherlock it couldn’t be but they could still try to develop a better brotherly relationship. His heart sank but hey, that was what he had originally wanted, wasn’t it? Sherlock had thought harshly about him being a coward, but he realised this had been stupid. It seemed Mycroft did return Sherlock's strange feelings, yes, but he couldn’t give his brother a hard time just because he didn’t want to go on acting on them. He was just reasonable. John had already figured it out. What if Lestrade did the same? He was Sherlock's friend and he respected or even liked Mycroft, but he was still a representative of the law. It was only smart to stop now. Whatever it was that Sherlock wanted from his brother… It wasn’t as if he knew it… But a tiny voice in his head told him it was more than just chasing and intensifying the thrill the kissing gave him or the possible action of making out would give him…

“Hello Mycroft,” he greeted his brother calmly. Well – as calmly as he could.

“Hello.” Mycroft gave him a shy smile. “Um, a meeting was cancelled and I thought I'd come over and hear your explanations why you are so sure about Wells' guilt.”

Sherlock nodded slowly. This was rather unexpected. Mycroft was clearly lying. Why? “Sure. Come in. Would you like a cup of tea?”

“That… would be nice. Thank you.”

Not even ten minutes later they were drinking the tea, and Mycroft took a biscuit Sherlock had offered him. He seemed to be waiting for a nasty remark, but Sherlock said:

“You lost weight, didn’t you?”

Mycroft stared at him. “Um, yes. A little bit.” He carefully bit into the chocolate-biscuit.

“Suits you. You did look good before of course…” Sherlock's voice died. He was so not used to making compliments. To nobody and especially not to Mycroft…

Mycroft blushed. “Well, thank you. I'll never look as handsome as you do of course but…” His voice died as well…

They were silent for at least a minute, and then Sherlock, who was feeling dazed after this unexpected exchange of nice things, did explain his brother what he definitely knew already. But Mycroft listened and nodded with full concentration and thanked him when he was finished.

“This is very helpful, Sherlock.” He emptied his cup. “I have to go. The PM will knock at my office door in twenty minutes…”

“Sure.” Sherlock got up. He was feeling sad but somehow the atmosphere had been so kind that it was still nice to have had Mycroft around. And this was already so much more than they'd had before.

Mycroft grabbed his coat and his umbrella. Sherlock accompanied him to the door and opened it for him. “Be nice to the PM. As imbecilic as he might be.” He gave his brother a genuine smile.

And then the umbrella dropped onto the floor, the door fell close again, and Sherlock was pulled into a crushing embrace, and one second later Mycroft's wonderful, soft lips were pressing on his. Sherlock had opened his mouth in surprise and he moaned when Mycroft slipped his tongue in. They kissed, really kissed, and the stars were back with a lot more force than before, filling out Sherlock's mind and heart. The kiss lasted for minutes, getting deeper with every second, and Sherlock, who had gotten hard instantly, could feel his brother's cock swell against his groin rapidly.

Finally Mycroft pulled back. “Oh, Sherlock. I know this shouldn’t happen, and I wanted it to stop. But then I sat in my office and all I could think of was you and that I'd hurt you and how much I wanted this. Still I came to tell you that we should stick to trying to be nicer to each other, because it is wrong, and I'm sorry…”

“No! It's not wrong, and I don't want you to be sorry! I want to feel this again. And again!”

Mycroft shot him a rather desperate look but then their lips met once more and the kiss got even deeper than before. And then there was a knock at the door behind Mycroft's back and they split apart instantly.

Sherlock opened and saw Mrs Hudson with a cake. His erection vanished within a second and he was pretty sure his brother's did, too… “Oh, hello.”

“Hello Sherlock, Mister Holmes! I thought you might want to have a piece of this cake! I just pulled it out of the oven.”

Mycroft and Sherlock looked at her speechlessly.

“Oh,” Mycroft brought out after a few seconds. Certainly it would have surprised him less if she had thrown the cake right into his face.

“The sight of the cake made him drool so much he can't talk anymore,” Sherlock said in a mocking tone.

Mycroft turned around to him and immediately understood. “Charming, Sherlock.” He gave him a short wink and looked at the old lady again. “Thank you very much, Mrs Hudson – this cake looks wonderful but I'm on the run.”

“Not literally. Means he will head back into his car now and go on sitting on his fat bottom in his office.”

“Sherlock!” Mrs Hudson glared at him. “Don't be so nasty to your brother!”

Mycroft tried to look upset, but Sherlock saw the sparkle in his eyes. “Sorry? Who are you and what have you done with my landlady, who hates my brother and calls him a reptile?”

She blushed hard. “Well, I thought after what happened on Christmas…”

Mycroft smiled at her. “No worries. I'm fine. Goodbye for now. Thank you for the kind offer, Mrs Hudson, and thanks for your help on the matter again, brother.”

“You're welcome. It was clear you couldn’t figure it out yourself.” Sherlock watched him leave, his head still spinning from their kissing.

“Would you like some cake?” the old woman asked almost shyly when the politician had disappeared.

Sherlock smiled at her. “Of course! Come in and I'll make tea for us.”


	3. Chapter 3

## December 30st

###  _Baker Street_

 

Sherlock took a sip of his tea, glad to finally be allowed to relax. He and John had had a very busy day. Unfortunately without seeing his brother. Mycroft had been tied up in meetings all day, and this time Sherlock was sure it had been true.

In the early afternoon Sherlock had texted him from a crime scene. He had solved the case within seconds, but he had asked him for his opinion, just like Mycroft had brought him the folders of the agents. It was a way to make contact in a very nice and strangely easy manner even though Sherlock had never asked for his brother's help on a case before. But he had really liked it.

He had done a snapshot of the corpse and had sent it over.

_Don't frighten – but what do you think? SH_

_That this poor person looks rather dead? MH_

Sherlock had grinned like a fool.

 _Really?_ You _should be the detective. Any other conclusions? SH_

_Let me see… The murderer came from behind. No time to scream. The handbag is missing which indicates a robbery, but she is still wearing her earrings. If they are not very hard to remove, a robber would have taken them. She has a very weak bruise on her right temple so she had been affected by violence before. She knew her murderer. As boring as it sounds, I would say the evidence is pointing at her partner. MH_

_This was on point. Thank you, brother mine. SH_

_At your service. I'll be off to the next meeting in a minute though. The Foreign Minister needs some advice and I better give it to him before he starts a war. MH_

_Hectic day? SH_

_Oh yes. Insanely. One meeting after the other. What about you? MH_

_Same. Had three clients coming to BS this morning already. The Holmes brothers are sought after a lot today it seems. SH_

_Indeed. And tonight there is a year's end party in the office. Need to attend it. Could do without it. MH_

_I can imagine. Goldfish all over. Don't let them talk you into spinning the bottle. SH_

_Oh, clearly not! Slapping each of them would be nice though. But the alternative wouldn't. MH_

_I need to go now. We'll be in touch. MH_

_Oh yes. Definitely. Have fun and try to be nice tonight. But not too nice. SH_

_No danger here, Sherlock. Good luck with your cases. Bye. MH_

_Bye, brother mine. SH_

He smiled when he thought of this really nice conversation. Still it didn’t mean anything more would happen between them. But apart from desiring his brother – which still made him shiver – he had started to really like him and this had come as a very pleasant surprise.

But of course it also made him feel guilty. He had never in his adult life tried to get close to him. Mycroft had always been the older sibling who – in Sherlock's eyes - had thought he had the right to tell him how to live his life, who had admonished him all the time and who had become a stranger to him more and more. The big age gap had separated them when Sherlock had been very young, and he had not seen his brother very often anymore after Mycroft had moved out of their parents' house. He had somehow been a figure to rebel against, not a brother to turn to for the most part of Sherlock's life.

But Sherlock knew that Mycroft had done all this because he had been worried about him. And God knew Sherlock had given him reason enough for that. Mycroft had always been there for him – not that Sherlock had ever thanked him for it. He had been a nasty younger sibling for sure and for way too long.

And now he saw Mycroft with completely different eyes and he wondered if it was the same for his brother. Could he forgive all the hassle Sherlock had caused him? All the insults, the snarky remarks, the self-destructive actions, the way he had laughed him in the face because of his concern? Was it even possible to desire someone who had shown such behaviour to him for so long? Well, it had been rather obvious that Mycroft desired him. He had gotten hard… But could they overcome this all, not even mentioning all the other obstacles, like the unimportant fact that having sex with each other was breaking the law? What would happen between them?

Sherlock hoped to find out very soon. But he also knew that it could very well end badly. Or that Mycroft could change his mind and turn him away before anything happened. So far he had been very indulgent with Sherlock all his life, except for Sherlock's drug abuse. But apart from this, Mycroft had always accepted him in his own, strange way – a fact that Sherlock only realised now. And Sherlock hoped very much that he would do it now, too.

He looked up when John, carrying Rosie, entered the living room. “So, I guess you won't come to the party tomorrow?” the doctor asked.

“Which party?” Sherlock didn’t know anything about it.

John grinned. “The party Greg talked about all the time. At DI Dimmock's house. You know – tomorrow is New Year's Eve.”

Sherlock grimaced. He had never liked this day. The noise, the drunk people. Not with him. He shook his head. “I certainly won't go there.”

John nodded. “Sure. You should really go over to your brother.”

“Oh. Oh!”

The doctor grinned. “So no plans with him so far?”

“No,” Sherlock said slowly. “We didn’t really talk a lot the last couple of days. And today he is completely tied up. They have an office party tonight.”

“I see. Well, I guess he doesn’t like that any better than you. Probably he'll be at home tomorrow night then. Perhaps you should surprise him. We have a real good bottle of champagne in the fridge, from the Pemberton case.”

Sherlock couldn’t remember but it sounded like an awesome idea. “Thank you, John.”

His flatmate gave him a smile. “Anytime, Sherlock. I meant what I said. You can count on me. Always.”

Sherlock smiled back. “I guess I should not mention this to Mycroft. But I appreciate it very much.”

 

###  _The Cabinet Office_

 

“Champagne, sir?

“Yes, thank you.” Mycroft took a glass. This evening would go by sooner if he was a little tipsy… Most of the people around him were rather drunk. Mycroft would have preferred getting really pissed, too, but he didn’t like to lose control around his colleagues or at all actually. But it would have helped him to stop fantasising about his brother – naked in his bed.

Well, of course this hadn't happened. But Mycroft couldn’t say anymore that it wouldn't…

He had gone to Baker Street the day before to seriously talk to Sherlock, to apologise for having hurt him and tell him they should try to have a better relationship with each other but also to convince him that this craziness couldn’t continue. They were brothers and it was forbidden and… And then Sherlock had smiled at him and had been nicer to him than in ages, and it had made Mycroft clear that his little brother longed for this physical contact very much – and whom did he want to fool, so did he.

It was dangerous and irresponsible and against the law – even though of course nothing really law-breaking had happened so far, but knowing Sherlock, this would only be a matter of time. Mycroft had known that if he gave in to kissing him, Sherlock would want more, and Sherlock always got what he wanted.

But God – it felt so great to kiss him. It was not only a physical turn-on Mycroft had never experienced (and now he knew that Sherlock hadn't done anything with Adler and so probably neither with anyone else), it did things to his heart he had never even imagined.

He desired his little brother. Even thinking it terrified him to no end. Sherlock had sat on his lap as a baby; Mycroft had taught him to make deductions; Sherlock had smoked his first cigarette with him (which Mycroft still regretted). He had never seen Sherlock in a sexual way; had never thought of undressing him, kissing his pale, lean body, explore his cock and his hole with his tongue and push into him with his – now very hard – dick.

And now he did think about this all, and it scared him. He knew he should say _no_ if Sherlock showed up on his doorstep, and he would come for sure. But he doubted very much that he would be so strong. And of course – if he sent him away, their relationship would not be difficult anymore. It would be dead…

And God – Mycroft didn’t _want_ to send him away. Because this was not just a physical reaction. If it had been simply this, he could go somewhere and fuck somebody else. But it was so much more. He was in love with Sherlock. And wasn’t love worth any risk? He knew if he said this to anybody he knew, they would look at him and not believe that the _Iceman_ was capable of love. And normally he wasn’t. He had never loved anybody – except for Sherlock. Mycroft cared for his parents, and he did care to some extent for his sister but he had never loved anyone but his brother. And now that he had started to see Sherlock as the desirable, actually irresistible man he was, he had fallen in love with him in a completely different way.

He just wondered if Sherlock was aware of all the implications. Was Sherlock in love with him at all? Or had this amazing reaction to their kissing messed with his brain? Had completely confused him? What if Sherlock was just curious what having sex with Mycroft would give him after the kisses had already had such an impact? What if Sherlock explored him and then dropped him? Even Mycroft with his total lack of experience in love knew that here was never a guarantee that things worked out well in a romantic relationship. But if this one failed, they would lose everything. Not even mentioning the fact that someone could find out. Actually Mycroft was sure that John already knew something. But strangely enough, it didn’t really bother Mycroft. If John was aware of it, he apparently didn’t care. Which was surprising because he had never liked Mycroft – this strange game was proof enough. But on the other hand John had always been so loyal to Sherlock. He definitely liked his brother very much (and now this didn’t bother Mycroft anymore either because Sherlock clearly didn’t feel any sexual desires for the doctor) and obviously his loyalty was so strong that he even accepted Sherlock's feelings – or whatever it was he had – for Mycroft.  John wasn’t a danger for them as long as Mycroft didn’t hurt Sherlock by doing anything he didn’t want. Which Mycroft would of course never do. But what about Lestrade or Mrs Hudson, or the jealous little Molly? He doubted they would be so accepting.

He took a gulp from the champagne. This was by far the biggest challenge of his life. He had never backed away from challenges. But in this matter he was on unknown grounds. Something told him though that it was indeed worth it…

He had not met Sherlock today. He had been tied up in one meeting after the other, and they had texted after lunch time. Sherlock had been at a crime scene and asked him for his opinion, which had made Mycroft very happy, especially because Sherlock clearly didn’t need him to solve crimes.  Except for the teasing at the end of their conversation, they had not exchanged any personal thoughts but it had been very nice nonetheless. He had told Sherlock he had to attend the year's end party tonight. There was no escape from it. Sherlock had wished him a nice time and said he should rather avoid playing games with bottles there, which had made him laugh out loud. In fact he had read every message from Sherlock with a smile. Which was amazing enough after all these years of resentment and hurt. He could only hope it would get only better from here.

He looked around. Everybody was networking, and it was tiring to watch everyone pretending to be amused and happy. People who he knew hated each other were laughing together as if they were best friends. Usually Mycroft was rather good at making small talk and playing the game, but somehow he didn’t feel like it tonight. It was so meaningless, and in his heart, something really meaningful was happening. He wished Anthea was there, but this was no place for PAs. Only the big fishes were allowed here.

God, he wished Sherlock was here with him. He would have snarky remarks about everybody and for sure he would make this party a whole lot more interesting. But then – Sherlock would make a funeral amusing.

Sherlock. There was nothing and nobody else to think about anymore. The _Iceman_ clearly was in love… He just wished he knew how to deal with it…

“Mycroft! Here are you hiding!”

He almost dropped his glass. “Oh. Elizabeth. I wasn’t exactly _hiding_ … I just don't like to be in the centre of drunken people.” Well, that had not been that polite… She was looking a tad tipsy as well. And she proved it when she grabbed his arm and stroked it.

“We could go somewhere more private then?” Lady Smallwood batted her eyelids. She was wearing a red dress that revealed way too much of her not very attractive body, and she had problems walking on her high heels.

Mycroft was feeling shock-frozen. He had really thought they had gotten over with this… He had even told her that he liked men some time ago. She had grimaced and not said anything to this, and after it she had not tried to ask him to see her outside of the office again. Until now… “Um, well, thank you but I guess I'll go home soon anyway.”

“Oh, I could come with you…”

“Um, you remember our last conversation about this sort of thing?”

She came so close that he could smell her breath, and the alcohol in it was almost enough to make him drunk as well. “Oh, you just need the right woman - me! - and fuck real good, and you will never waste a thought on doing men anymore!”

This was tough. And the image was so disgusting that he could feel his stomach pulling together. “Um, thanks for your offer. But I would prefer keeping our relationship on a strictly professional basis.” _And tomorrow you will feel so sick and ashamed…_

She laughed in a bitter tone and finally released his arm. “Right. Whoever it is you _are_ fucking, he's the luckiest man in the world.”

Mycroft emptied his glass. “Yes. I guess he is.”

Something told him that very soon he would find out if this was true.

 

## December 31st

###  _Baker Street_

 

“Oh, did you have a case?”

Sherlock turned around on the stairs. Mrs Hudson had come out of her flat, rubbing her hands on her red apron. “Oh, yes! Criminals never sleep, Mrs Hudson,” he declared, and he grinned when John giggled behind him.

Their landlady smiled. “The world can be grateful that you don't, either. Do you have any nice plans for tonight?”

“I'll attend a party at a policeman's house,” John said. “Greg and Molly will be there, too.”

“Oh, that's nice. And you won't go there, Sherlock?” She looked at him inquiringly.

“Um, no. I've got other plans.”

“I see. Well I hope you both will have a great time.”

“What will you do, Mrs Hudson?” John asked her.

“Oh, just watch some telly and go to bed before all the noise starts. This isn’t my cup of tea.”

Neither was it Sherlock's. He had no interest whatsoever in fireworks or loud parties. He was planning a very different kind of celebration. Actually he didn’t plan too much at all except for showing up on his brother's doorstep with the bottle of expensive champagne. But he hoped he would see stars again instead of fireworks, and in more ways than he had done so far. And he hoped Mycroft would let him stay overnight and allow him to explore everything he had to offer. Everything? Yes. Everything. Because it was not only his body Sherlock was interested in. He wondered why it had taken him so long to get that. He was in love with his brother. Strangely enough, the realisation didn’t even scare him too much. If his heart was safe with anyone, it would be Mycroft. And of course – nobody else would ever get it.

They spent the rest of the day with two rather urgent cases and playing with Rosie. She would be brought to John's sister for the night; Harry babysat for her quite often now, and since she stayed sober these days, John didn’t have to fear for his daughter. And there was still Harry's girlfriend who was crazy for the little girl.

“How do I look?” John asked him at half past seven. He had put on black jeans and a grey jacket and had done something strange with his hair. He looked like a blond hedgehog.

“Dashing,” Sherlock assured him.

John grinned and bowed. “Thank you very much for this sweet lie. What are you going to wear?”

Sherlock smiled. “A tuxedo.  I needed it for Mummy's seventieth birthday and it should still fit me.” He had buffed up even more since then but it had been a little too big in the beginning anyway.

“Oh, do some pics, would you? When will you go there?”

“In an hour I think. Should be ready until then.”

“Nervous?” John asked quietly. They had not openly spoken about Sherlock's feelings for his brother but Sherlock knew he didn’t have to hide anything. Some things shouldn’t be spoken out nonetheless.

“Yes,” he answered. “But also… excited…” There – he had said it.

But John smiled. “I bet. I hope everything turns out fine. I'll call you at midnight.”

“Well – if I don't answer…”

John laughed. “You're busy, I get it. Alright, I gotta go. See you next year.”

“Yes. Greetings to the others. And don't tell them where I am…”

“Of course not. But I wouldn’t be surprised if at least Greg can guess it.”

Sherlock paled. “Oh, really?!”

“Hey, hey, Sherlock! If he does, he'll be okay with it.”

“He's a policeman, John! And incest is not exactly allowed.” He blushed at saying this word for the first time.

“Yes. But he is also your friend and he likes your brother a lot. Don't worry. Nobody who knows you will harm you. And if anyone tries, he has to get past _me_ first.”

Sherlock was more touched than he had thought possible. “John… This means so much to me. You really are my best friend.” There had been times when this had been rather questionable. But it seemed they were gone.

The doctor smiled. “Of course I am. Who else would be able to bear you? Well, except for Mycroft of course.” He pulled Sherlock into a tight embrace. “Be nice to him, Sherlock. And see what happens. I'll keep my fingers crossed. Bye for now.” With this he picked up Rosie and her stuff and left.

*****

Sherlock looked into the mirror and even though he had never considered himself overly attractive – not that he had ever cared – he knew he was looking good. The black tuxedo fit him perfectly, his face was flawless and clean shaven and he had scrubbed his skin and his teeth like never before. He ruffled up his curls a bit and then went to the kitchen to fetch the champagne.

He had stored it in a bag when it knocked. “Yes?”

In came Mrs Hudson with a small box. “Hello, dear, I thought you could take this with you.”

Sherlock went over to her and took it. “What is that?”

“Oh, look at you! You look stunning! And I've made a few sandwiches with salmon and cheese and decorated them a bit. You know – the way to a man's heart goes through his stomach. Of course you already have his love, but it will please him, trust me.”

Sherlock was speechless. “How…”

“Oh, Sherlock. I know you. You don't let anybody get close to you. Nobody can live up to your intelligence and charisma. Nobody except for him. I have only understood that now. You two are fitting like you wouldn’t fit with anyone else, brothers or not. You bickered around when I saw you with him lately but it was not like usual.”

“Wow, that's… And you don't mind?”

“No, my dear. You are both grown men, and nobody has the right to tell you that you can't have each other. You must be careful with everybody else except for John and probably Greg. But I will certainly not judge you. As long as he is good to you, you should try to make the best out of it.”

“We both know he'll always be. All he ever wanted was protecting me.”

“It took you a long time to realise that.”

Sherlock huffed out a laugh. “Indeed. And without this silly game, I would probably never have.”

She nodded. “Always expect the unexpected. Now go to him. I'm sure he'll be waiting for you.”

Sherlock smiled. “He has no idea that I will come over. He texted me and asked what I was going to do tonight, and I answered that a policeman had invited us to a party.”

“Cunning. You didn't say you were going there.”

“Exactly. I asked him what he would do and he said he would stay at home.” Even Mycroft's text had sounded exhausted. Sherlock figured the party in the office had not been that pleasant, and he definitely needed rest. Well… He'd had time enough to rest now…

Mrs Hudson patted his hand. “He hopes you will come to him. And he will be waiting.”

Sherlock bent down and brushed a kiss on her cheek. “I guess you're right. Thank you, Mrs Hudson. For everything.”

“Always, Sherlock. As long as you are happy, so am I. And now hurry so you can enjoy the evening with somebody who loves you more than anything.”

“I will.” _Because I love him all the same._

 

###  _Mycroft’s house_

 

Mycroft had spent the afternoon with working on reports he had not managed to finish before. Or perhaps he had kept them for having something to do? But he had been alone in the office and in the late afternoon, when everything was done, he had let the driver bring him home.

He had taken the luxury to nap a bit after a long, hot shower and dressing into clothes nobody would recognise him in: a casual, black pullover and black jog pants. He had slept for about an hour and then had had a light dinner while watching the news.

He hadn't wanted to think he was disappointed that Sherlock had preferred going to a party with his friends instead of spending the evening – and perhaps the night – with him. In the end they had lived separate lives forever – why should Sherlock give his up just because something had changed between them? He was still the clever detective with the cases and the popularity and friends who cared about him. He didn’t _need_ Mycroft. He apparently did want something from him – what exactly had still to be figured out. But that didn’t mean he had to spend all the time with him. But of course: deep inside he was disappointed.

After dinner he took care of the dishes and then he visited his gym and worked out a bit on his treadmill. Feeling pretty refreshed, he headed upstairs and showered quickly.

And when he left the bathroom, he heard a strange noise from downstairs… It had sounded as if… as if someone had opened a bottle of champagne.

A grin appeared on his face when he walked down the stairs and entered the living room. And stood when he saw his brother, who was filling two champagne flutes with what looked like very fine champagne. And he looked absolutely gorgeous in his black tuxedo. Mycroft remembered having it seen on him on Mummy's birthday party. And he also remembered that he had thought: _He looks very good in this_ and had said: _I'm glad to see you dressed up like an adult for a change_. What an idiot he had been. But then, Sherlock had said: _As long as I don't look as if my suit would burst the next second…_ Well, they had _both_ been idiots…

In any way Sherlock looked wonderful, and he had taken to such measures because of him. And Mycroft should have known he would show up… “You wrote you had been _invited_ to a party,” he recalled when he approached him. “Not that you would actually _attend_ it.”

Sherlock nodded and offered him a glass. “Indeed. As I've told you some time ago: you're slipping!” But he smiled at him so sweetly that Mycroft's heart made a jump.

“You might remember what I said about the middle age. So you're here to celebrate with me instead? Cheers.”

They clinked glasses and took place on Mycroft's big, black couch, and Sherlock smiled. “Cheers. Of course I am. Where else would I want to be tonight?”

Their eyes locked, and a warm feeling spread out in Mycroft's heart and made his throat get tight. Sherlock wasn’t here to exploit him and then leave. This was not about trial and error or pushing his limits or sexual curiosity. This was about love – for both of them, and it made something with his soul that was so foreign to him that it scared him but also made him shudder from anticipation.

“That is – if you want that at all?” Sherlock sounded insecure now.

And now Mycroft understood why Sherlock had not suggested spending this evening together. He had been afraid Mycroft would think it over again and finally decide it couldn’t be. But there was no way Mycroft would do that. He had been so afraid of everything that had happened the last couple of days and of what might happen, but now he knew it had to be like this.

He gave his brother a warm smile and pressed his hand. “Of course I do. I'm very happy you're here. On us!” He lifted his glass again.

Sherlock smiled back. “On us. Whatever we are and will be.”

“Well, after struggling with it for days I would say: brothers and lovers. If that's agreeing with you?” He looked at his little brother expectantly and earned another of these breath-taking smiles.

“Very much.” Sherlock stroked over his arm. “You look very good in these casual clothes.”

“Oh, thank you. And you look absolutely stunning. If I had known you would show up and above all dressed like this, I would have put on a tuxedo as well.”

Sherlock grinned. “I just felt I had to make the best impression I can. And it's very nice to see you in your home outfit for a change.” He opened the box he had brought. “Mrs Hudson has made that for us.”

“For us? She knows you're here?”

“Yes. I didn’t tell her! But she sensed that our bickering lately was a little different…” Sherlock grabbed a cheese sandwich and gobbled it down within seconds.

“Wow. Your friends are all smarter than I thought. As I suppose John knows about it, too?” He picked a small sandwich with salmon and took a bite. Mrs Hudson had made it for him! The miracles didn’t stop anymore!

“He does. But both of them are very supportive.” Sherlock shuffled closer to him. “Nobody of them will give us away.”

Mycroft should have known that Sherlock's landlady would also be on their side, no matter how little she liked Mycroft. “I guess as long as they know you want everything we do and I don't take advantage of you, they will probably not be a danger.”

“I will want everything.” Sherlock's voice was very low and quiet now.

Mycroft hurried to eat up his sandwich.

Sherlock chuckled. “You don't have to gulp it down in two seconds. Take your time.”

“Well, I did have dinner. But I also ran on my treadmill afterwards.”

Sherlock sighed. “Listen… I can as well start now.”

Mycroft swallowed the last bite. “With what?”

“Apologising. For everything actually, but especially for all those nasty remarks about your weight and you needing a diet – it was all bullshit. You were always in good shape, and lately better than ever. I'm sorry. I always lashed out on you without reason. I was such a brat all my life that I can hardly believe you should want me!”

Mycroft smiled and gently cupped Sherlock's smooth cheek. The contact made them both shiver. “It's alright, Sherlock. You can believe it! And I _was_ chubby in my youth.”

“But that was thirty years ago!”

“Thanks for reminding me how old I am!”

Sherlock looked terrified, and Mycroft laughed. “I'm just joking, dear. We somehow never grew out of our roles. I've always been overprotective because you are my little brother and I've wanted to protect you from the day you were born. And your role has been to rebel against it.”

Sherlock sighed again. “But now we're both adults, and for a long time already. We should not be like this anymore.”

“Well, understanding this is the first step for development. We'll have to define our relationship completely new, Sherlock. Not only when we become lovers, but also the brotherly side.”

“Wow, that sounds complicated.”

“We're geniuses. We'll figure it out.”

Sherlock nodded. “I guess so. But is it bad if I don't want to think right now?”

“What else would you like to do?” Mycroft had never heard his own voice speak like this. Seductive. Playful.

Sherlock looked at him with big eyes. “God, you're so fucking sexy, Mycroft.”

Mycroft couldn’t help it – he laughed out loud. “Sorry, Sherlock, but nobody has ever called me _sexy_.”

Sherlock's face stayed serious. “I'm glad to hear that. I want to be the first one.”

“Well… I guess I will be literally your first one?”

“Um, yes. I have never done anything sexually with someone else. I've never wanted to. Until this kiss…”

Mycroft's head was spinning like the bottle had. What if he had spun it differently and it had pointed at anyone else who had been there? For sure he and Sherlock wouldn’t be here like this in this case. He would always be grateful for this stupid game and John's nosiness and the luck to have spun the bottle in exactly the right way. Had it been luck? Or had he subconsciously chosen Sherlock to be the recipient? Perhaps it had even been destiny. He had never believed in this superstitious stuff, but it was hard to not do it in this case.

He cleared his throat. “I'm very happy about that, Sherlock. And believe me when I say that nobody has ever owned my heart except for you.”

Sherlock nodded. “That's great. But of course I should have said this right away: before this all happened, not only had I not had sex with anybody, I had also never been in love.”

Their eyes were locked almost painfully. “Does that mean you are in love with me?” Mycroft asked very quietly.

“Fuck, yes! At first it felt like a drug when we kissed and I wanted more. But then I finally realised that I had been in love with you even before. I must have been, otherwise this kiss wouldn’t have had such an impact.”

This was true, wasn’t it? When had this happened? How had it happened? Mycroft doubted they would ever figure it out. Their long history together made this impossible. It had not been a single moment but it had built up deep inside and unnoticed by them and despite their difficult relationship. And the involuntary kiss had set those feelings free.

“May I… kiss you now?” Sherlock asked him, and Mycroft grabbed the back of his head and their mouths searched contact, very careful and tender.

The kiss lasted for twenty minutes. It grew more intimate and deep with every second. Eventually Mycroft managed to pull his brother onto his lap, with Sherlock's help of course. Arms were slung around a neck and a waist, and they melted into each other. The kiss was every bit as exciting as the first one even though it was so different. There was nothing forced and embarrassing about it. It was grounded on love, and Mycroft enjoyed every moment of it. They nibbled at each other's lips, their tongues explored every inch of the other man's mouth, and Mycroft grew rock hard. So did Sherlock, and Mycroft couldn't wait to finally see him. Feel him without any fabric between them. He knew they should take their time, and they would, but he wanted more in this night.

Finally Sherlock pulled back. “What do you think? Should we eat a bit more now and then go upstairs?”

“Sounds very good to me, brother mine. But we have time. Let's not hurry anything. Well, we need to get naked, that's for sure. You look gorgeous in this tuxedo, but I bet you'll look even more breath-taking when it's a pile on the floor.” Of course he had seen Sherlock almost naked before after he had grown up (not counting the times he had seen him in a tub as a child). In Buckingham Palace (and how could he have not realised that it was not a normal reaction to look at your brother's arse when your foot was on his sheet?) or in the hospital bed. But it would be so different if Sherlock undressed for him and lay naked on his bed, spread out to be worshipped by his hands and his mouth…

Sherlock smiled. “And as sexy you look in this outfit, I can't wait to see what is under it. I want to see you and feel you, Mycroft. I want you to show me everything. I'm happy to go with you however far you want tonight as long as eventually we'll do everything with each other.”

“I love your plan, Sherlock.”

His brother's glorious eyes bore into his. “And I love _you_ , Mycroft.”

It made his heart dance, and his voice was breaking when he said: “I love you, too, Sherlock. And I can't wait to show you how much.”

*****

Sherlock had fantasized before coming to Mycroft's house how he would unwrap his sophisticated gentleman of a brother out of one of his precious three-piece-suits, how he would slip these strange sleeve garters that would have looked completely out of time and silly on anybody else but fit him so well from his arms, remove his tie and kiss every inch of skin he would reveal. When he and John had come to this house after sending the clown and the dwarf – an action Sherlock regretted bitterly now - Mycroft had been dressed like this.

But he was not a bit disappointed now when Mycroft just pulled his black pullover over his head after giving him a rather shy smile. Sherlock knew he would have the honour to slowly remove the layers of the Iceman many times in the future. For now he was more than happy to see Mycroft getting bare chested within the blink of an eye.

And what he had revealed made him swallow. He stared at his brother's chest – completely covered with black hair. It made him realise how long he had obviously not seen him without clothes. He had definitely not looked like this the last time.

Mycroft tensed. “Well, if I had known you were coming over tonight, I might have shaved it off…”

Sherlock was standing right before him in an instant. He was close to drooling and his brother thought he didn’t like it?! “If you had done that, I would have been really pissed! You look awesome!”

“Really? I can shave it off anytime if…”

“Awesome! You hear me?” Their faces were very close. “You're so sexy. May I touch you?”

“Of course. It's all yours if you want.”

Mycroft's smile did things to Sherlock's heart. God, and how they both had always despised sentiments… This was the epitome of sentiment and Sherlock loved it. He reached out and let his fingertips slide over the cool hair on his brother's warm chest. It felt somehow wiry but still soft. And Mycroft moaned quietly when Sherlock rubbed over one of his nipples in the go.

He looked up to him with a smile. “Sensitive?”

“Oh yes. They're hard to see but when you accidentally find them, they will get stiff.”

Yes, the nipple Sherlock had touched was poking out of the hair curiously now. Sherlock grinned and let the other one follow at once. He rubbed in circles over them with both thumbs, and it was very nice to witness Mycroft's reaction. His breathing had sped up, and his pupils were blown wide.

After a few seconds, Mycroft cleared his throat. “You do realise _you_ are still fully dressed? Why don't you follow my example and we get a bit more comfortable, like on my huge bed?”

Sherlock chuckled. “No objections, brother.” He fumbled impatiently with his tie, eager to get his hands onto Mycroft's body again as soon as possible.

“Wait, let me help you before you strangle yourself.”

Sherlock grinned and nodded and watched his brother taking off his tie and then unbuttoning his white shirt with his deft, long fingers. Mycroft actually did what Sherlock had wanted to do for him, and it was very nice to be on the receiving end, too.

When he had stripped off everything but his pants, the older man stopped and eyed him thoroughly. Sherlock could see his look flicker when he saw the scar the shot wound inflicted by Mary had left. He gently stroked over it. “You're gorgeous, Sherlock. And I can't believe I didn’t get it before… When I remember Buckingham Palace… I looked at your arse, for God's sake! That should have told me something!”

Sherlock giggled. "And did you like what you saw?"

"Oh yes... Lie down now, please."

"What about these?" Sherlock pointed at the last remaining part of his clothing.

"Leave them on for a moment. I would like to keep the main prize hidden until I have worshipped the rest of you."

"Okay! But I want to see you naked at once!"

Mycroft grinned. "Always so impatient. Alright." He slipped out of his jog pants, his socks and his boxer briefs.

"Oh fucking hell!"

Mycroft looked a little proud. "Well, I guess it's not that small."

"Not that small?! They must be able to see it from space!" Mycroft's dick was dark pink and simply huge. So were his balls, albeit covered in more hair. Sherlock was sure he would eventually have some hairs sticking in his throat but he couldn’t wait…

Mycroft laughed out loud. "You're exaggerating, little brother. And you know I'm never going to hurt you. We will take every step at a time. And if you agree, we'll do it all both."

The thought of his brother being spread out for him to take him was making Sherlock's pants look like a tent, as well as the image of this giant cock being buried in his arse. "I so do," Sherlock assured him and then he entered the bed and lay flat on his back. "Worship me, Mycroft. And be sure nobody else has and nobody except you ever will do that."

It was as simple as this. He wondered how two men so brilliant could have not seen this long ago. They were both so different from anybody else. No goldfish had ever drawn their attention – Sherlock could be sure about himself and he was quite convinced it had been the same for his brother. Their intellects as well as their coldness towards most other people made them difficult and unique. Who else than the other one could it be for them? And Sherlock knew without having to flatter himself that they were making a physically attractive couple as well.

It was the other one or nobody at all for both of them, and deep inside Sherlock knew this would never change. And he wouldn’t want it any differently.

Mycroft was over him in a moment and kissed him. "I'm so happy to hear that. But I have to say that even though I'm not a virgin, I'm not really experienced, either. I think it's about twenty-two years that I gave anyone a blowjob. And even though I'm very determined to do it for you, I never did it until the end for anybody..."

Sherlock stroked over his hair. "That's fine with me, brother mine. I'm glad we'll be able to discover these things together. Let's agree to both be patient and nice. If I bite this third leg of yours by accident, please refrain from hitting me on the head."

Mycroft laughed. "That would only make you bite me harder so I shall let it be." He kissed Sherlock again. "Of course we'll be patient and kind. As new as it is to both of us, we'll have to be. But something tells me we'll both enjoy it."

Sherlock didn't doubt that in the least.

*****

Mycroft had told Sherlock he wanted to save the main prize – his now hard, big dick – for last, but when he now looked at his brother's otherwise naked body, mapping its beauty with his eyes, storing the sight away in his mind palace, he realised that of course Sherlock himself was the main prize. Mycroft was convinced that Sherlock broke hearts wherever he went. Molly Hooper and Irene Adler were in love with him and there had been times Mycroft had thought that John was, too. And well – Moriarty had been drawn to him as well for sure. And he was very certain Sherlock's beauty was not unnoticed by anyone who met him. He was stunning. And it was more than just his looks – it was exactly this cool, calm, superior personality that made him so desirable, not even mentioning his intelligence. Sherlock was perfection and it made Mycroft dizzy to think that of all people Sherlock could have he was allowed to have him. In every sense of the word…

“You may touch me, too, brother mine!” Sherlock encouraged him with a twinkle in his eyes.

“Oh, sorry. It's just still hard to believe that you chose me over anybody else…”

Sherlock reached out and stroked over his cheek with a gentleness Mycroft would have not thought his brother was capable of. “The only thing that's hard to believe is that it took us so long to get together. And of course I could say the same. Why me when you could have Lady Smallwood?!”

Mycroft laughed. “I hate you.” He tousled Sherlock's curls.

Sherlock chuckled. “I don't believe that.”

Mycroft leaned over to kiss him. “Right so. I love you and I'm sorry for all the wasted time. And there's something I haven't mentioned yet…”

“What is it?” Sherlock sounded worried.

“It's nothing too bad but I will have to be out of the country for four days, leaving on Tuesday. I need to attend a conference in Afghanistan with the MI6. I'll be back Friday afternoon, but I'll have a lot to catch up then plus a very late meeting and can only meet with you on Saturday, right in time.”

“For what?” Sherlock smiled.

“Your birthday, little brother! I know you don't like to acknowledge it, but I will book a table in a nice restaurant for dinner then, just for the two of us.”

“You want to have a real date with me?”

“Well, you know we can't go there like a couple. But we'll know that we are. And after dinner, we'll come here and go straight to bed.”

Sherlock nodded. “Sounds like a very nice plan. Make sure you'll come back in one piece. I would get very cross if they flew you back in a black box and I'd miss out on this fancy dinner.”

Mycroft felt something in his throat. Sherlock's playfully-snarky way to say that he cared about him was so typical and yet his deep affection was clearly showing through. “Will you miss me after all?” he teased him.

Sherlock gave him a smile that could have melted a rock. “Of course. And since we won't have much time then until next weekend, we should really make the best of the hours we have today and tomorrow. I won't have to go back to Baker Street until tomorrow evening if you want me to stay?”

“I definitely want that.” Mycroft kissed him again. “And now let me take you apart.”

It was a massive turn-on for him to listen to Sherlock's low groans and panting when he started kissing, gently biting and licking his entire body, being extra gentle on the scar Mary Bloody Watson had graced him with when she had almost killed him, sparing out the still covered groin. Sherlock got goosebumps on whatever body part Mycroft focussed his attention on, and he clearly enjoyed the unknown sensations.

Mycroft thought that one should have expected that he was feeling guilty about this: worshipping his little brother's body in a highly sexual way, his hand rubbing the inside of Sherlock's smooth thighs, his lips covering every inch of him in tender kisses. But he wasn’t. All his life he had wanted to keep Sherlock safe, to see him happy and in good health. He had failed miserably most of the time; instead he'd had to witness him taking drugs, running from one dangerous situation into the other and above all getting almost killed.

But now, in this moment, Sherlock was as safe as he could get and he was definitely feeling good. Mycroft didn’t see the little boy who had sat on his lap, looking up with admiration to his big brother (God, how times had changed after that) but he saw a man who loved and desired him as brothers certainly shouldn’t do, but it did make both of them happy and feeling loved, and despite all the dangers of this forbidden relationship Mycroft knew deep inside that it was the right thing to do. His love and care would keep Sherlock safe (even though of course his profession could still bring him into dangerous situations but he would presumably stop _looking_ for them) and in all probability Sherlock would look better after himself in every regard now that he had something that was important to him.

And then Mycroft stopped thinking at all and for a change, he allowed himself to feel.

*****

 _So this is what all the fuss is about_ , Sherlock thought while he was lying there, sometimes with closed eyes, sometimes watching his brother cover his body in kisses, licks and teasing bites. This was what made people act in the most irrational ways, what they all craved for and couldn’t live without. And finally he understood why.

Sherlock had never been a sexual man. He'd hardly had any sexual desires and if he'd had them, he had either ignored them or taken care of them quiet-minded and quickly.

He would have never thought it would be like this… not even after the impact the kisses with Mycroft had had on him. This was indescribable. The softness of Mycroft's lips, the slight wetness of his tongue, the care and tenderness he put into his touches – it was overwhelming. Sherlock's entire body seemed to vibrate, he developed goosebumps all over, and his cock was impossibly hard in his pants.

He could feel that Mycroft hesitated to touch the scar on his chest, and he did remember well he had some more on his back that were now hidden. Of course Mycroft had saved him in Serbia and seen the wounds. And Sherlock knew he wouldn’t mind. He was just touched by how Sherlock had been hurt, and especially the wound of the shot had to remind him that he had been so close to losing his brother. Sherlock cursed himself once more. Even without these unexpected romantic feelings he should have realised long ago how much he meant to Mycroft. He should have been so much nicer to him, no matter how overprotective his brother had been. He had to make up for so much…

“Stop thinking, brother mine,” Mycroft mumbled between kisses. “I just told myself the same.”

Sherlock smiled at him. “Okay. And something tells me this will heal more wounds than talking about the old stuff.”

Mycroft smiled back. “I hope so, too.”

“Please – undo my pants now. I need your hand or mouth on it.”

Mycroft nodded. “I'll do that with pleasure.”

Pleasure, yes… that was what reduced Sherlock to a boneless bundle of nerves when Mycroft wrapped the long, strong fingers of his right hand around his dick and slid them up and down in a firm grip. And then he licked over the throbbing head, and Sherlock moaned so loudly that it startled them both.

A moment later they shared a grin. “It seems this is to your liking?” Mycroft asked innocently.

“Oh, brother… I was addicted to kissing you, but now you can be sure that you will have to do this every time we meet.”

“I shall accept my fate then,” Mycroft assured him with a wink – and closed his beautiful lips around the wide head of Sherlock's now dark-red cock.

Sherlock moaned again and his head just dropped into the pillows. This was a feeling he had never thought existed. As if the bottom part of his body had taken off and was flying around. Mycroft started sucking him now, slowly and carefully – in the end he had not done this for ages and had to get acquainted to it again, and also he certainly wanted to give Sherlock the time to get adjusted to being treated like this. His tongue was hot and strong and he circled it around Sherlock's most sensitive part and licked into the tiny slit. Sherlock could feel how he was leaking.

His breathing had sped up, he was fisting the sheets now, his head was spinning and he knew he would have to release himself very soon. “I'll come in about twenty seconds – you'd better get it out…”

Mycroft pressed a kiss on this slit again and then used his hand to bring him to completion. Sherlock came with a cry so deep and loud that the next neighbours who lived about a hundred metres away probably heard it. The orgasm was like nothing he had ever experienced. It filled out every fibre of his body, made him lose control over his thoughts and seemed to transport him into a whole new world of pleasure. Hot, thick spurts of semen splashed over his stomach and a few drops hit his face.

“Oh,” was all he could bring out when the tension left his body and he sacked into the pillows as if he had lost all his bones.

“Wow,” Mycroft mumbled and pressed his arm. “That was quite intense, wasn’t it?”

“You're too smart to state the obvious,” Sherlock mumbled with closed eyes and a grin when he could speak again.

Mycroft chuckled and cleaned him up with a towel. “Seems I haven’t forgotten everything about giving head.”

“Another proof that you never forget anything…” Sherlock was a tad (and very stupidly) jealous of the other men his brother had pleased like this, no matter how long ago it had been. “Promise me, Mycroft…”

“What, brother dear? To do this every time we meet? Clearly. Consider it promised. And the next time I'll give swallowing a try.”

Sherlock thought that his brother could be very happy he had not done it this time. He would have certainly not been able to take this massive load. “A regular repeat is greatly appreciated, and I will do the same for you. In fact I will as soon as I'm able to move again… But I also meant… promise me that you will never do this for anyone else anymore.”

“Oh, Sherlock. I guess that is very easy to promise.”

And then Mycroft tossed the towel aside, lay down next to him and took him in his arms. Sherlock nuzzled his face against his brother's neck and slung an arm around him. He had never felt so good.

*****

Sherlock allowed himself exactly five minutes to spend cuddled up in Mycroft's arms before he got up to return the favour and to explore his brother's body equally thoroughly as Mycroft had done. He lowered his body on him, resting on his elbows, and started the tour with kissing Mycroft's face – his forehead, his eyebrows, his cheeks, his nose and of course his mouth. When they had gotten lost in passionate kissing for a few minutes, he moved over to his neck, his ears and his shoulders. And every time his lips touched the soft skin, he felt this amazing sting, like a very nice electric shock filling his brain. But also he felt a pull at his heart whenever he heard Mycroft sigh quietly or chuckle, and his cock jumped to attention again when Mycroft started stroking his sides and his back.

Nuzzling his face into the thick chest hair made him get even harder. He was amazed by the work of the genetics that had made one brother –Sherlock himself - almost hairless and the other one so furry. This discrepancy turned him on enormously. He loved the hair and he loved licking the hard, big nipples that seemed to jump into his mouth when he sucked at them.

Mycroft's stomach was flat but a lot softer than his own, and at the slightest hint that Mycroft tried to hold his breath he playfully bit into the hairy skin. “Don't, brother. You're perfect.”

“I'm a pudding in the hands of a Greek god,” Mycroft mumbled.

Sherlock looked up to him. “No. You're great. You look great, you are great. We had this subject before. Please – forgive me and be assured that you are wonderful just as you are.”

He closed his eyes when a warm hand stroked over his cheekbone. “Thank you, Sherlock. I'll try my best to not think I'm a flabby mess.”

“Do that! Because you are in great shape. And now let me find out if I can take more than three centimetres of this python in my mouth.”

Mycroft laughed and Sherlock went to work with a grin. He moaned at once when he tasted the heavy, hard dick for the first time. It felt so amazing in his mouth – the skin so soft and silky, the taste musky and salty, and when he tickled the slit like Mycroft had done on his one, he was rewarded with a few small drops of stickiness. He licked them up and rolled his eyes. The kisses already tasted so seductive, but this was even more arousing.

He did all he could to avoid biting his brother, and he was very grateful that Mycroft hardly winced when his teeth did scratch over the exposed skin of his now foreskin-free dick. This appendage was so massive in both length and girth that Sherlock knew it would take him a lot of practice to not biting him and to getting used to seriously sucking him. He did know the mechanics, albeit not from personal experience other than what Mycroft had just done for him. But he slowly and carefully tested and tried and stretched his limits more and more. When he saw Mycroft pulling at his huge balls, he mimicked the gesture after gently pushing his hand away.

Mycroft was moaning and wiggling like Sherlock had been so he knew he had to do it quite well. He had worked down to almost half of the length when Mycroft's breathing got a lot louder. “I'm close,” he mumbled. “You're doing that so great, you're gonna make me come so hard…”

Sherlock was stiff and erect himself already, and the apparently unconscious dirty talking by a man he would have never thought was capable of this let him grab his dick. And he had just pumped himself a couple of times when Mycroft climaxed with a scream, directly into Sherlock's mouth as he had not pulled away.

It was a very strange feeling but Sherlock had read a few things about giving blowjobs before coming to Mycroft this day, and he bent his neck in a way that Mycroft's semen directly shot down his throat without triggering his gag reflex too badly, and a few seconds later, he came again as well, spilling over his hand, his cry muffled by the object of desire that was still in his mouth.

“Oh, Sherlock, I can't believe you did that,” Mycroft mumbled, his eyes half closed, his voice unsteady.

Sherlock let his dick go, swallowed the part of the semen he had not caught at once and fumbled two hairs out of his mouth. Then he took the towel, found a not-soiled spot and cleaned up his brother's dick and his own mess. Then he lay down next to Mycroft and covered them with the blanket.

It was nine o'clock. Three hours until the new year would begin, and Sherlock had never looked forward to this ever before. It had never meant anything to him; it had been a day like any other. But he knew the next year would bring him plenty of sexual fireworks, and he couldn’t wait to explore Mycroft inside out…

“Let's just sleep a while,” he said quietly. “And when it's midnight, we'll do it again.”

Mycroft laughed and squeezed his shoulder. “That is a very good way to start a new year. I love you, Sherlock.”

“The best,” Sherlock mumbled sleepily, exhausted by his two strong orgasms but feeling awesome. “Love you, too.”


	4. Chapter 4

## January 6th

###  _Baker Street_

 

Everything had changed. How had Sherlock despised everybody who was in love. He had read enough about how people could not think of anything else than the one they were in love with anymore. He had only shaken his head. There were so much more interesting things in this world to think about, he had thought.

And now? Mycroft. The brother he had rebelled against all his teenage- and adult life was all he could think of now.

After their first sex, they had both dozed off until Sherlock's phone had started ringing. He had not answered, instead kissed his sleepy-looking brother thoroughly. Then he had received texts from John, Molly and Greg that he read absently while Mycroft had been kissing his neck ( _Happy New Year, Sherlock – I see you ARE busy! Oh, look what you are missing out_ [picture of the cold buffet] _J Have fun! JW/ Hello Sherlock! I wish you a very Happy New Year. It's such a shame you are not here. It's really nice here. I hope you are well. Love, Molly/ Hi Sherlock, Happy New Year! On more cases we can solve together! Greg Lestrade_ ).

His head on his brother's chest, Sherlock had quickly typed the answers after Mycroft had encouraged him to do it ( _You, too, John. I would show you a pic of MY catering but I guess you wouldn’t like it. SH/ Thanks, you too, Molly. Hope it will be a good year for you. SH/ Happy New Year, Grant. And you mean YOU will watch ME solving them. SH_ ).

He had kissed Mycroft again and then they had gone downstairs, dressed in robes, and had drank some more champagne, watching the fireworks from the window for a few minutes and then headed back to bed. They had kissed for another hour and gotten each other off with their hands. Mycroft had been hesitant to do more in their first night, and Sherlock had accepted that. If his brother wanted to be old-fashioned (as much as this was possible in an incestuous relationship), he would not push him. He would have his way with him soon enough.

They had spent the holiday together, exchanging more lovely caresses and body fluids and then Sherlock had left so Mycroft could pack up his stuff for his bloody conference. John had embraced him when he had returned, laughing about Sherlock's joke in his text, and then he had asked Mrs Hudson to come upstairs and they had sat together for an hour. They had not asked Sherlock for details of his time with Mycroft, but they had both said how happy he looked and it had obviously pleased them.

The next day, Sherlock had already missed his lover/brother when he had been sitting there in Baker Street, listening to their first client. He knew Mycroft would leave for the airport after lunch, so at ten, he had headed over to his office, hoping to catch him before he had to go.

Anthea had given him a knowing smirk that had made his brain come to a halt for a second, and had let him into Mycroft's office, and Mycroft had been very happy to see him. Assuring Sherlock that his office was a safe place, they had kissed and embraced each other for fifteen minutes but then Mycroft had said he had to finish something before his departure, and Sherlock had left him alone.

On his way out, he had stopped next to Anthea's desk. She knew about them, without a doubt.

“He can always count on your loyalty, can't he?” he had asked.

Anthea had looked up from her phone. “Of course. Did you doubt that?”

“But you voted for kissing, too!” He had never thought about that. Mycroft didn’t know it in the end. They had never spoken about who had voted for what.

“Well, yes.” She had shrugged, looking too innocent.

Sherlock had stepped a little closer to her. “Why?” he had quietly asked.

She had smiled. “Do you want to hear the official version? The one I would tell your brother or DI Lestrade?”

“For the start…”

“Your relationship was bad enough. I didn’t expect you hitting his face would make it any better. A kiss is nicer than a slap, even for the Iceman.”

Sherlock had nodded. “And what is the unofficial version? The one you would only tell _me_?”

Her smile had gotten wider. “I've been working for your brother for many years now. He is the smartest man on earth. But perhaps in some minor regards like emotions, I know him better than he knows himself. Guess because I'm a woman, you know?”

Sherlock had been speechless for a moment. “You _wanted_ this to happen? You thought deep inside he wanted it?”

She had winked and nodded. “Wanting _what_ to happen? I have no idea what you mean.”

He had smiled. “He can be very grateful to have you.”

“I know,” she had said with a fine smile, and he had left.

They had been in contact very often over the next few days. Whenever Mycroft had time, he texted him, and he always called him in the evening, speaking about their days and how much they were missing each other. It was all so natural. There was no awkwardness between them and no shyness. They both accepted that they were in love with the very last person they were supposed to be in love with, and perhaps it was this secret (well, it was not a secret to everybody, and Sherlock had told Mycroft that Anthea knew it and was fine with it; he'd just had to) that brought them even closer together.

But they had been so far apart. Sherlock would lie in his bed at night, fantasizing they were together, making love. He couldn’t wait to go all the way, and he knew they would at the weekend. It was all he wanted for his birthday: his brother, being safe back from his trip to a dangerous country and in his arms where he belonged. And now it was almost time to meet. Mycroft had returned to London the day before later than expected due to a flight delay and had called Sherlock before his meetings and again after. Sherlock had planned to head over to him in opposite to what they had agreed on, but his brother had sounded so tired after his bloody long day that he had refrained from doing it. He didn’t want to be a bother for him. Damn, he was really growing up…

But finally he would see him today. He had solved a case for an old lady in the morning, had had lunch with John at Angelo's, had eaten cake with him and Mrs Hudson a few hours later, Molly had called him (because John had told her it was Sherlock's birthday), Irene had sent her usual text (that he had ignored as always) and of course his mother had called as well, and he had spoken with her and his father for a while. But now he was about to get ready for the evening and night with his brother.

*****

“Wow, you're looking so different!”

Sherlock raised his eyebrows. “I wanted to. We can't exactly go there holding hands, but it would be convenient if people didn’t recognise me at first sight. Perhaps I'm lucky and nobody does at all. And do you mean _different_ like in _silly_?” He really hoped not…

John hurried to shake his head. “Not at all. Just so unusual.” He reached up and poked at Sherlock's hair. The detective had tamed his curls and combed them back so he just had a thick, straight head of hair.

“I'm not a dog, John,” he mildly protested, and the doctor chuckled.

“Bark for me, would you!” They shared a grin and then John let his hand drop. “You look awesome. This suit is stunning and your cheekbones are more prominent than ever. He'll love it…”

Sherlock grabbed his shoulder. It was the first time that John had really clearly hinted at his relationship with Mycroft. “Thank you, John. Your support means a lot to me. You and Mrs Hudson are so acceptant of something I really thought would make you freak out…”

“Well, I would have thought it would make _you two_ freak out!”

Sherlock grinned. “You were there. We did in the beginning. But eventually we realised that this kiss you forced us into must have set something free in both of us. It was definitely there before, or this all wouldn’t have happened.”

John stepped closer. “You know I was very discreet so far. But I am dying to know it… how is it?”

Sherlock laughed. “You mean sex with a man?”

The doctor blushed a little. “Not only with a man. With _him_.”

“Well, so far he hasn't shoved this giant dick of his into my arse, John, and neither have I taken him. But we've sucked each other and I shouted the entire neighbourhood down when I came for the first time with him.” Actually he had done so every time except for the cases when his mouth and throat had been rather full…

“Holy shit… You are not shy!”

“Why would I be shy with you? You did ask! And you're my best friend. Well, apart from him now.”

“God, if anyone had told me this before Christmas I would have called the ambulance…”

“Ask me! I did not exactly expect this!” Sherlock straightened his dark-grey tie. “I thought I didn’t have these needs, John. I thought I would never fall in love and never do anything sexually with another man. I knew I was gay but in a very abstract way. But now… I'm addicted to kissing him, and since New Year's Eve I'm addicted to having sex with him. And I wouldn’t want to change a thing about it.”

John smiled. “It's great, Sherlock. I'm so glad you found happiness. Even if it is with the last person on earth I thought you would.”

“Actually he is the only person. The only one who is like me, brain wise and emotionally. If I wanted to put it in a melodramatic way, I would say we were meant for each other.”

“It's awesome. And Mrs Hudson and I will always support you.”

“Thank you very much, John. I appreciate it greatly. Anthea knows it too, by the way.”

“That doesn’t really surprise me. There is not much this woman is missing.”

“True.”

The doorbell rang. Sherlock looked at his watch. “Oh, he's early.” Mycroft had said he would pick Sherlock up at Baker Street after doing a few things at the office. He still had a lot to catch up with.

“I'll open up!”

Sherlock smiled about John's enthusiasm and wondered how he would deal with his brother now. And then he froze when he heard a voice he had not expected to hear.

He went to the corridor, his heart beating faster. “Glenn. I don't have time for a case now.” He knew he sounded too defensive but he couldn’t help it. There was no law against going to dinner with your brother, but Lestrade would be very surprised about it. And as he too had witnessed the beginning, he wouldn’t have to be a genius to figure it out…

The DI raised his eyebrows. “Well, actually I just came around to wish you a happy birthday.”

Sherlock glared at John, who shrugged. “He asked me a couple of months ago if I knew when it is.”

“And you still remember it?!” Sherlock was stunned.

The grey-haired man shook his head. “I might not have your memory, but I do have a working brain even though you might have difficulties to believe it. So – happy birthday! I see you've got nice plans.” He looked over to John who was wearing a grey jumper and red jog pants. “Not with him as it seems.” He grinned and Sherlock felt sick. His brain set in and he fumbled out his phone to text Mycroft to meet him at the restaurant instead when the doorbell rang again. Too late…

John and he shared a panicked look but then John shrugged. “I'll go,” he said quietly.

Sherlock nodded and watched him go to the door.

“Sorry if I'm embarrassing you,” Lestrade said with a surprised tone in his voice. “But it's not forbidden to have a date, not even for you.”

Sherlock cursed himself for not telling him at once that he was about to go out with Mycroft. He could have said they just met up to discuss some family matter, or that Mycroft wanted them to be nicer to each other (which would have been true…). He had acted suspiciously and the policeman was not stupid.

And then Mycroft showed up in the corridor, wearing a black suit with a pale-pink tie and looking absolutely dashing. John was behind him, giving Sherlock an encouraging look.

Mycroft smiled at the DI as if nothing was unusual about this situation. “Good evening, Greg. Are you doing well?”

Lestrade looked quickly from him to Sherlock and back, his eyes widening, and then Sherlock could see he understood completely. It took the older man a few seconds to regain his composure. But his voice sounded as friendly and quiet as usual when he spoke. “Yes, thank you, Mycroft. I've just dropped by to congratulate Sherlock. I wish you a very nice evening.” His look said: _It's fine. I don't want to talk about it but it's fine._

Sherlock couldn’t believe it. He too?! “Thank you, Greg,” he said as calmly as possible.

All three men in front of him opened their eyes widely and he could see John's jaw drop.

“What?” Sherlock looked from his brother to his flatmate and then focused on the man in the middle.

“You called me Greg!” the DI said in a disbelieving tone.

Sherlock raised his eyebrows. “So what? Isn't this your name?”

And then Lestrade grinned from ear to ear. “Yes, it is. Enjoy your evening, gentlemen. Bye, speak soon!”

He left with a wave of his hand and Sherlock and Mycroft looked at each other and grinned. And then Sherlock was clinging around his brother's neck and John silently removed himself.

*****

“You look so gorgeous,” Mycroft mumbled when their mouths had parted rather reluctantly. “I've missed you…”

“Oh, ask me…” Sherlock snuggled against his entire body, his strong arms firm around Mycroft's waist. “Will you do that again soon? Leaving the country for days?”

Mycroft smiled and drew circles on his brother's back. “No, and I won't if I can avoid it. We should go now, our table is waiting.”

John showed up with Rosie on his arm. “Have fun, boys,” he said, eying Mycroft rather carefully.

He smiled at him. “Thank you, John. For everything.” He was more grateful than he could say that Sherlock had the support of both the doctor and his landlady. And obviously from Lestrade as well. Mycroft had not been so sure about this. But they couldn’t forget that not everybody would react in such a positive way (and he was still amazed that Anthea had even tried to get them together). Molly Hooper and their parents were the last people to know about it – apart from the public and of course Mycroft's colleagues. Neither the pathologist who was in love with Sherlock nor Lady Smallwood who probably still longed for Mycroft would accept this; Mycroft was very sure about it. They had to be very discreet. But hell – he wanted to go out with Sherlock this evening. He knew his brother would turn every head as he looked absolutely gorgeous. So they would be forced to keep their hands from each other the entire time.

John nodded. “It's alright. It does make me a little proud that it was me who caused this all to happen.”

“You shall be my best man,” Sherlock assured him, and both he and John laughed.

Mycroft felt a sting of pain. Yes, this would be so wonderful… Getting married, being together like every other couple. But of course it could never be.

Sherlock sensed his feelings and took his hand. “I know, brother mine. Come on now. I'm hungry. And I need something to eat as well.”

They all laughed, and then the brothers left the flat. They kissed when Sherlock had closed the door behind them, and then they walked downstairs quickly. Mycroft's driver would bring them to the restaurant and they would take a cab to Mycroft's house afterwards.

When they had reached the ground floor, the door of Mrs Hudson's flat opened. “Oh, look at you! You're gorgeous!”

Mycroft smiled. “Sorry, which of us?”

She recalled and smiled back. “Both of you.” She grabbed Mycroft's arm and patted Sherlock's cheek. “Have a wonderful time.”

“Thank you, Mrs Hudson,” they said simultaneously, and Sherlock kissed her cheek.

“We definitely will. See you on Monday.” He would stay with Mycroft until Monday morning so they would have two nights together. Mycroft couldn’t wait… He had missed Sherlock so bloody much and he couldn’t wait to be alone with him. But he did want this hopefully nice time at the restaurant with him, just like any other couple would go out on one partner's birthday. It was important to him to show Sherlock how much he cared about him. He didn’t only want to have sex with him. He wanted them to be a couple in every sense of the word, albeit without the approval of the society and most of the people they knew. This was the burden they had to carry, but Mycroft would make sure it would not weigh down on Sherlock or himself too heavily. They wanted both of them to enjoy all their time together.

“Yes.” The old woman leaned closer to Mycroft. “Be good to him, please. Always.”

Mycroft smiled at this lady who had called him a reptile not too long ago. “I will, promised.”

She gave him a nod and a smile and patted his arm, and then she walked back into her flat.

The brothers shared a look. “It's great, isn’t it?” Sherlock asked quietly.

Mycroft pulled him close. “Yes, it definitely is. But now let's go so you'll get fed.”

“Before you'll feed me your huge cock.”

“Of course. But only if you eat up your meal.”

Sherlock laughed. “Always the big brother, right?”

“Yes, Sherlock. Always. Oh – and happy birthday, my love!”

###  _Restaurant Chez Cherie_

 

“How's your fish?” Mycroft asked his brother and wiped over his mouth with the precious, white tissue.

Sherlock looked up to him, chewing and grinning at the same time. “Great,” he mumbled with his mouth full, and Mycroft laughed.

“You are incorrigible. But I'm glad it's to your liking.”

Sherlock swallowed the food down. “It is. It's such a posh place here. You come here often?” He gestured at the candelabras and the golden statuettes everywhere.

“Not really. But I was here for a meeting a couple of weeks ago and thought it would be convenient.”

In fact he had chosen the expensive restaurant because he was rather sure that nobody who knew them both would show up here. The public didn’t know who he was, and there were no paparazzi around anyway so their picture would not appear online or in a newspaper.

He knew Lady Smallwood would not be seen dead here anymore since a waiter had treated her in a nasty way. When she had told him about it, Mycroft had wondered if it had really been the fault of this poor man… Anyway, he knew he would be safe from her. Molly Hooper would certainly not feel comfortable in a place that snobby, and he was quite sure Sergeant Donovan and her lover would not show up here, either, let alone the Holmes parents who were sitting safe in their house a hundred kilometres away. And so far he had not seen a familiar face. It was Saturday evening so there would be no government meetings. The table next to theirs was still empty though but Mycroft didn’t expect any nasty surprises.

Nobody seemed to have recognised Sherlock with his unusual – and very beautiful – hairdo. Of course he had turned people's heads like he always did but because he was so stunning, not because he was recognised as the hat detective. Mycroft did feel a bit jealous about the way strangers dared look at his man – his brother, his lover, his everything – but he couldn’t deny he was also pleased. It made him stupidly proud that Sherlock didn’t even look at anybody but him. He didn’t have eyes for anyone except Mycroft, and this made him very happy.

“What are you thinking?” Sherlock asked him quietly, his deep voice sounding tender and seductive.

Mycroft quickly squeezed his arm. There was nobody close to them or looking over right now but nonetheless he kept this tender gesture short. “I just thought that you are turning every head, and how lucky I am you don't even notice it.”

Sherlock nodded. “There's only one person here or actually anywhere who deserves my attention. That's you in case you are wondering.”

He winked and Mycroft caught himself smiling at him in a way he would have only described as totally sappy if he had seen it on anyone else's face. How had this happened so fast? How had they grown together like this in such a short time – despite being separated for days above all? How had they crossed the bridge of being _arch enemies_ to being the other one's _darling_ so quickly and easily?

“It just had to be, Mycroft,” Sherlock said, obviously deducing his thoughts. “Everything about us is unusual, and this leads to finding love in an exactly as unusual person or none at all. There was nothing to hesitate about. We are the only logical match. Totally rational choice.”

“Totally,” Mycroft assured him and Sherlock grinned.

“Don't mock me, brother dear, or you won't be allowed to devour my gorgeous body later,” Sherlock threatened.

“God forbid,” Mycroft said and continued to eat his steak.

“Oh, and by the way,” Sherlock said while attacking his fish again, “you are turning equally as many heads as I do. I do notice it, you know. I just don't care if they stare at me. But staring at you is another subject. You're mine, you know?”

Mycroft smiled. “I never thought you would tell nice lies, Mr Snarky Detective. But be assured – even if anyone looked at me, he could only look. Because yes… I'm yours.”

“You're an idiot to not believe me, but I'm glad to hear you're _my_ idiot,” Sherlock stated and took the next bite.

Mycroft opened his mouth to let his brother know what he thought about being called an idiot when two people approached them, or more precisely, the free table next to theirs. And he knew the male part of the couple very well, and so did Sherlock…

“Oh, Mycroft! What a wonderful surprise!” The elderly man offered him his hand, and Mycroft shook it. “Good evening, Mr Anstruther. This is indeed a surprise.” He tried to sound totally calm. It was not easy.

He had been shocked at first when John had let him into 221B, whispering that Lestrade was there. Mycroft had decided in an instant that behaving as if it was completely normal that he and Sherlock were meeting up, dressed for a date, was the best way to react. Something, one could call it an instinct, had told him that Lestrade would accept them even though he was the law. Luckily, he had been right.

But now he cursed their misfortune... and wondered which strategy they should choose.

“And no – this handsome young man can't be Sherlock! I hardly recognised you without this mess on your head!” The man laughed loudly, and the young woman next to him giggled.

Sherlock forced a smile onto his face. “Such a pleasure…” His tone said the complete opposite, but Mycroft didn’t mind at all. This was exactly how their parents' old friend and lawyer knew him – impolite, sarcastic and unbearable…

It could have been worse, couldn’t it? They could have held hands or shown their affection in any other way. It would have been a nightmare. It was bad enough that the man witnessed them together, sharing a cosy meal in a very expensive restaurant.

Mr Anstruther (who had asked them to call him _Uncle Peter_ a dozen times, which both brothers had always refused to do – they had enough stupid uncles already…) only knew them fighting. He had been at countless family events, the last being Mummy's seventieth birthday, and every time Sherlock had only said nasty things to Mycroft and Mycroft had admonished him to behave and grow up. The lawyer had used to laugh about their bickering and said they would go on like this until their deathbed. And now he saw them together like this and Mycroft could be sure their parents would be told about it. He cursed the fact that Sherlock had definitely not told their mother that they would meet for dinner. If the old man mentioned it now, and he would, it would look very odd to her…

The old man took place after arranging the chair for the young woman – wife number five if Mycroft had counted correctly. He had only seen her twice. “I must say this is unexpected – what are you doing here together?”

Sherlock gently nudged Mycroft's leg with his foot before the older brother could answer – not that he had known what to say. “It's my birthday, and big brother showed up in my flat, gave me this silly suit, told me to tame my hair and threw me into a black limousine. It was like a bad movie.”

Mycroft could have kissed him. Well, of course he did… But his brother's cleverness and fast reaction made him admire him even more. “You've turned thirty-six, Sherlock. It is not demanded too much from you to spend one evening like a civilised person, eat at a decent place and behave like the adult man you are.”

“All you want is to turn me into the second Mr _I’m-So-Boring-It-Hurts_ Holmes. Well, we both know it won't work.” Sherlock let his cutlery fall onto his almost empty plate. “Care to buy me a dessert once we're here? But please refrain from staring at my plate and begging for a share – we both know only one of us can afford any extra calories.” His foot touched Mycroft's leg again as if to reassure him he didn’t mean what he said.

Of course Mycroft knew that but the gesture caused the danger of letting a stupid smile appear on his face. He fought it back with an annoyed grimace and a theatrical sigh. “Sherlock, really. We're in company.”

The old Mr Anstruther just laughed. “Oh, I've missed you two guys. Natty, aren't they adorable?”

His wife, at least forty years younger than him, giggled again. “Yes, you're really like a cat and a dog.”

Sherlock focussed his glorious eyes on her. “Who is which? Oh, wait – Mycroft is the fat bulldog that just barks and drools, and I am the slim, slick black cat that gives him something on his oversized nose.”

The Anstruthers burst out in silly giggles, and Mycroft needed all of his self-control not to laugh as well. It was a very new reaction to Sherlock's teasing. He remembered their endless banters over all those family dinners all-too-well. They had hurt him; he had to admit it. Sherlock had been cold and nasty with his then seriously-meant hurtful comments, and sometimes he would have liked to reach over and give him a smack. Now he wondered if Sherlock had in reality fought his deeply hidden desire for him by treating him like this. Because Sherlock was right – it must have been sleeping inside both of them. Sleeping very deeply until this childish game had woken it up.

He forced himself to look at Sherlock with an expression full of arrogance. “I've always thought it says _high as a kite_ , but apparently you were high as a _cat_ then.”

Sherlock glared at him. “Very funny. So, what about my dessert. Mousse au chocolat, s'il vous plait?” He waved at the waiter in the black suit, who came to their table at once.

“Bring me some nice, sticky chocolate mousse, Mr Penguin. Only one spoon! He won’t get anything!” He pointed at Mycroft, who had to pinch his own thigh very hard to not lose it. Sherlock was really on fire…

The waiter bowed without the hint of embarrassment. “Very well, sir. Can I bring you anything?” he turned to Mycroft.

“Which word of the part _he won't get anything_ did you not understand?” Sherlock hissed. “I think it's obvious that if he eats anything more, he won't be able to leave your snobby place anymore as the doors will be too small for his protruding hips.”

They were getting attention from the other tables now, but Mycroft knew Sherlock was behaving exactly as their parents' oldest friend would expect him to.

“I think you had enough wine now, brother,” he said through gritted teeth. “You can have your dessert, and then I'll put you into a cab home.” He gestured at the waiter to remove himself. It would look strange if he let Sherlock behave like this for much longer.

“Oh, is poor little Mycroft pouting now?” Sherlock mocked him in a childish voice. He was such a bloody good actor…

“Excuse me,” Mycroft said and stood up. He looked back after walking a few steps.

“Oh, yes. I gotta pee as well. Better make sure he doesn’t leave through the backdoor and let me pay the bill to teach me a lesson.” Sherlock bowed to the Anstruthers theatrically and followed him to the men's room.

Once they were there, he dragged Mycroft into a cabin. “Damn, Mycroft, why did they have to show up?” He gently kissed him. “I hope you know I didn’t mean a word.”

Mycroft smiled against his mouth. “I do. But the Penguin-part was hilarious.”

“Ah, it's an old joke. I guess we can never come here again…” He sounded sad all at once.

Mycroft pulled him close. “The next time we'll go out of London. Spending a weekend together at a rent house somewhere in the countryside, eating in a nice little restaurant. We'll have some nice times together, Sherlock. But I'm sorry it turned out like this. I just wanted to show you that it is not just about sex for me.”

“Oh, Mycroft. I know that! Neither is it for me! Okay – I am addicted to kissing you and getting blowjobs and giving you some, and once we've started really fucking each other, this will only add to it. But of course it's so much more. Let's go back now. I'll go on with my show so Uncle Peter can tell our parents a nicely embarrassing story, eat my dessert and then we'll take a cab to your place and get into each other's pants.”

“That sounds very good to me. I love you, Sherlock.”

“And I love you, my barking bulldog.” Sherlock hugged him tight.

“I might bite as well though.”

“Do tell,” Sherlock purred against his neck. “Mycroft?”

“Yes, brother mine?”

“I want to lick you when we are alone.”

Mycroft swallowed. His dick was plump already thanks to having Sherlock so close. He couldn’t go out there with a full hard-on. “Lick my dick?” he asked nonetheless.

“That is a given. But I meant something else… I thought about doing that all week…”

“Oh… Let's go back and then hurry home!” He couldn’t wait for Sherlock to put his tongue to use. And of course for returning the favour thoroughly.

Sherlock laughed and kissed him again. “Alright, Big Boy. Let's entertain them for a while longer and then let me entertain _you_!”

###  _Mycroft's house_

 

The door had hardly closed behind them when Sherlock was in his brother's arms. Of course they'd had to keep their distance in the cab but now Sherlock was not willing to let anything separate them for the remains of this weekend.

They had gone back from the men's room, and before they had reached their desk, Sherlock had explained an elderly woman how many calories she was eating with the fork of lasagne she had been about to put into her mouth. She had looked at him with wide eyes and Sherlock had bowed to her with a grin. He had to admit he liked to be nasty – this had not changed. But it had killed him to be nasty to his brother. Not because he feared that Mycroft would take it seriously – he knew he wouldn’t – but because this kind of humiliating bickering belonged to the past. A past in which Sherlock had thought he despised his brother for being so stiff and prim and hated to be permanently admonished by him. He was wondering now how much of this had been a subconscious attempt at fighting back completely different emotions. In any way he absolutely didn’t like to talk to him like this anymore. Playful mocking and teasing were absolutely fine and he knew Mycroft enjoyed this. But this had reminded both of them too much of what had been. He hadn't needed to ask his brother about it.

Sherlock kissed Mycroft deeply, melting into his embrace, after Mycroft had hung up their coats.

“Hmm,” Mycroft hummed after letting his tongue explore Sherlock's entire mouth. “I do get a share of your dessert in the end.”

Sherlock pulled back and laid his palm on Mycroft's warm cheek. “I swear I'll interview Mrs Hudson on Monday how to make the best chocolate mousse on earth and then make a huge bowl for the two of us for next weekend. That I hope we can spend together again?”

Mycroft smiled. “Of course we will. And we'll meet up as often as possible during the week as well. And I would love to have this mousse then smeared all over you so I can lick it off your delicious body.”

“Wow - dirty, Mr British Government! Come on now, let's go to bed.”

“Going to bed at nine on your birthday on a Saturday night. Mummy would be so proud.” He took Sherlock's hand and they started walking to the stairs.

“I do have my doubts about that…” Sherlock knew they had been very lucky that everybody who had figured out how close they had become had reacted to this scandalous development in such a positive way. But he also knew that except for those four highly trustworthy people, nobody was allowed to find out about them, their parents being on top of the list of people who would drop dead if they knew about it. So they would not have played dog-Mycroft and cat-Sherlock for the last time to misguide those who could never find out. But if that was necessary to ensure being able to stay together, they would do it.

Five minutes later they had gotten rid of their jackets, and now Sherlock was allowed to peel the Iceman out of his fancy clothes. The metal sleeve garters slid over Mycroft's arms, and Sherlock looked at them, grinning.

“What, brother dear?” Mycroft asked with a smile.

“Oh, nothing. I just thought we might use them a little later.”

“For what? Oh…”

Sherlock grinned. “Yes!” They would serve well as a special sort of cock ring if Sherlock was able to fumble both of their dicks into them without making their members fall off.

He admired every inch of skin he was revealing after carefully unbuttoning Mycroft's expensive shirt.

All day at the office people looked at his brother, dressed up as the gentleman that he was. The Iceman, the untouchable, arrogant, hyper-intelligent man of power and influence. Nobody of them would ever get to see him like this – his shirt open, the fur on his chest exposed, his pulse racing, his eyes full of emotion – tenderness, care and arousal, all of this just for him. Sherlock put his hand on his chest, feeling his heart beat fast. And he knew it was beating for him and him alone, and if this sounded sappy, sod it.

He kissed Mycroft's neck and worked his way down while undoing his trouser button and the zipper. Biting one of the stiff nipples, he reached into the flies and found a hard, hot, leaking part of Mycroft that definitely nobody of his colleagues had ever seen or would ever see. It made Sherlock very proud that he was the only one who would have this honour from now on. Of course he would have preferred if he had been Mycroft's first like he was for him, but on the other hand he could be grateful that at least one of them wasn’t totally inexperienced.

Very soon after, Sherlock was sitting on the bed while Mycroft was standing before it. Sherlock moaned when he tasted his brother so intimately again. He had missed this so much; had missed _him_ in fact but the taste still made his brain spin like the best drug he had ever taken. The long, thick cock lay heavy on his tongue, releasing little drops of pleasure onto Sherlock's taste buds. Very slowly Sherlock took him deeper, holding onto Mycroft's thighs while moving his head towards his groin. Mycroft's hands were in his neck but he wasn’t in the least pressing him down, just holding him, stroking him with his forefingers, mumbling words of encouragement.

Sherlock managed to take more than half of the length and then he pulled back. “I want to taste the other side, too, please.”

Mycroft nodded, his voice hoarse when he said: “Since you asked so politely…”

A few moments later he was fully naked, and Sherlock slipped out of his suit and his underwear and then Mycroft stuffed a pillow under his arse, exposing himself for Sherlock to explore him.

And he did. He had done some research over the past few days and theoretically he knew what to do. His sources had not said how difficult it was to invade somebody's anus with your tongue. It always closed down and seemed to move away from him, and finally he used the help of his fingers, pressing one and then two of them gently into him to open him up for his tongue. Mycroft had told him where to find his lubrication, and Sherlock made sure his fingers were nicely sticky when he worked them into his brother. Finally he managed to let his tongue take their place, and the taste blew him away. He moaned and groaned when he licked the quivering hole, and Mycroft responded very nicely as well.

Sherlock's cock was achingly hard now, and finally Mycroft grabbed his arm and said: “Take me now, brother; you've prepared me well enough. Just go slowly.”

Sherlock was nervous to say the least when he was resting on his arms on either side of Mycroft and the older man guided his cock into his fluttering hole. The feeling of heat and tightness was almost too much for the completely inexperienced Sherlock and he quickly searched for a thought that would calm him down. He found it and smiled happily, and Mycroft grinned.

“What did you think of to not come at once?”

Sherlock grinned. “Sir Edwin having sex with Lady Smallwood.”

“Oh dear God… how do you manage to be still hard?”

“That’s because you are so fucking hot, big brother. Not even Anderson doing Donovan could make me lose my erection when I'm buried in you.” He started to move now, very gently and carefully, and Mycroft moaned. In fact it was his first time to get fucked as well.

“How is it?” Sherlock asked him quietly. “How does it feel?”

“It is very strange,” Mycroft admitted, stroking over his biceps. “There's so much pressure inside of me, and it does hurt a bit.”

Sherlock stopped pumping immediately. “Shit! I don't want to hurt you!”

“Hush, it's alright. Because it also feels so great. A part of you being in me – it's the highest form of physical intimacy. I love it.”

Sherlock was touched by these words, and he bent down to kiss him. Mycroft held him tight while their mouths were merging, too, and then he urged Sherlock to thrust harder. Sherlock decided to not draw it out and gave into the sensation, losing himself into his brother's canal very soon after. Panting and shivering, he snuggled into his arms after it, and his left hand pumped Mycroft's huge dick until he spilled over it with a low cry. Sherlock knew he would never forget his first time topping Mycroft, and he couldn’t wait to bottom for him as soon as they had recovered.

*****

Sherlock was lying on his back, his hands kneading his brother's shoulders. He enjoyed being caressed by Mycroft's lips once more.

After dozing a bit, Mycroft had shown him his birthday present. He had asked him to get up and opened the middle part of his huge wardrobe. And there had been two suits – one black one, made of a warm fabric, a winter suit, and a caramel-coloured one for the summer, plus some nice pieces of underwear of Sherlock's favourite brand. Apart from this, there had been plenty of room for more clothes. The message had been clear – Mycroft wanted him to bring a part of his wardrobe over to his house, showing him that it was Sherlock's home now as well.

When Sherlock had thanked and embraced him, feeling very touched, Mycroft had held him tight, and then he had pulled one pair of black paints out. Sherlock had laughed out loud: on both front and back there were printed the words: _Property of the British Government._ Sherlock had told him that he would only wear them when they were together, just in case he would end up in hospital. Mycroft had cupped his cheek and said he should avoid that by any means, if he wore those pants or not. Sherlock had assured him he had no plans to get injured any time soon so he wouldn’t miss out on their sexual relationship as it would be too dangerous to fuck in a hospital bed. What he had really meant - and he knew that Mycroft was aware of this - was that now he really had something to live for, and he didn’t have any intention to mess it up.

And now Mycroft was exploring his property thoroughly. He licked traces all over Sherlock's body, and when he had reached his dick, Sherlock bent his back in arousal and moaned loudly when he was enveloped by heat and wetness. Before he had let one of the sleeve garters slide over their cocks that were united in his large hand. It had felt strangely arousing to be surrounded by the cool metal on one side and Mycroft's warm dick on the other one. They had laughed a lot together during this strange experience, and Sherlock had been very grateful. Not only did they click sexually in the perfect way but they also could laugh together during sex. They had competed with each other all their lives but in this they were a team, and a very good one above all.

He fisted the sheets when Mycroft sucked him, and protested when he let him go.

“Now, now, brother mine. It's time to take care of the other side,” Mycroft soothed him with a wink.

And then Sherlock's arse was lifted up by two strong hands and a tongue circled his entrance without further hesitation. It felt heavenly…

Eventually Mycroft urged him to turn around, and Sherlock buried his face in the pillows when his brother spread his legs and started licking him seriously. He penetrated him with his tongue and his fingers, and he kept talking dirty when his mouth wasn't occupied.

_“You taste so sweet in there; I can't get enough of you.”_

_“You are so nicely open for me - would you like my cock to be inside you?” “Yes!”_

_“Now you've taken three fingers. Guess you're ready for my dick now?” “Yes!!!”_

_“You think you'll enjoy being fu…” “Dammit, get it in now!!!”_

“Get up, please,” Mycroft said quietly after pressing a kiss onto his butt with low chuckle that went directly into Sherlock's groin. “I would like to take you like the dog I am.”

Sherlock laughed out loud. “Do dogs fuck cats?”

Mycroft chuckled. “Only if they are such cheeky, disobedient cats. But then they fuck them very thoroughly.”

“Sounds good to me, Mr Dog.” Sherlock got up on his knees and hands and looked over his shoulder. Mycroft had lined up behind him, lubing himself and Sherlock's entrance up.

“If it hurts you, just say it at once. We'll take it very easy, alright? First time and all?”

Sherlock smiled. “I know you would never hurt me. Of course – you are built like a rhino so I guess a little burn will be inevitable.”

Mycroft nodded. “I guess so, too. But if you can't take me, just say the word and I'll stop. We can always try it another time, but we don't have to do that anyway if you don't like it. Not every man is a bottom.”

But Sherlock found out very quickly that he apparently was. Of course it felt strange at first when the wide head of the large cock breached the ring of muscles. Sherlock's anus seemed to tell him that this huge thing didn’t belong in there and should better get out at once. But he ignored the grumble and told Mycroft to go in deeper when his brother asked him if he was alright. It took a few minutes until Mycroft was fully seated in him and started to thrust very carefully. But then it felt simply heavenly. Sherlock's prick was – despite being untouched – hard like a brick and sensations so intense that Sherlock could have screamed, but he limited his reactions to groaning and moaning and telling Mycroft to fuck him hard. His hips started to rock backwards, meeting Mycroft's rhythm, and his entire body was feeling as if he was under electric treatment, but in the most pleasurable way. He glanced down and saw the pearls of pre-cum on the tip of his cock and he could feel his balls pull together when Mycroft changed the angle of penetration and hit this spot Sherlock had read about as well. He cried out.

Mycroft stopped at once. “Damn, did I hurt you?”

“Oh, Mycroft! Just do that again!”

“Oh! Sure…”

He sounded pleased and Sherlock smiled, but then his head lolled back and he knew if anyone had been in front of him now, he would have only seen the white in his eyes. The feeling was too much to bear for him, and after Mycroft had poked his prostate a few more times, he came in strong spurts over the bed.

“Fuck, Sherlock!” Mycroft hissed and then Sherlock could feel hot fluid being shot up his arse.

“Stay still until I have the towel,” Mycroft said quietly, and Sherlock saw him reaching out and then cleaning him up after pulling out of him.

Then Mycroft manoeuvred him out of the puddle of cum on the linen and urged him to lie down while he took care of this mess as well. Then he lay down next to Sherlock and the detective rested his head on the furry, sweaty chest. He could feel Mycroft's heart pound under his ear.

“So I suppose you liked it?” Mycroft mumbled and stroked over his hair.

“What did I say about stating the obvious?” Sherlock retorted and twisted the stiff nipple next to his face.

Mycroft chuckled. “Sorry, little brother. My brain has not started working properly again yet.”

“Has it ever done?” Sherlock teased him and grinned when Mycroft's chest moved under his head when he laughed.

“Practicing for the next one to misguide?” he asked Sherlock and pinched his cheek.

“Ouch! You remind me of Aunt Clarissa. She always did that.” Sherlock had been pissed off every time the old woman had tortured him with this, always saying how tall he had become…

“You are seriously comparing me, your good-looking, hyper-smart sex-god of a brother, with this old hyena?”

Sherlock giggled and kissed his neck. “Sorry! She was definitely not as modest as you are, dear brother.”

It felt so great to be like this with him. Of course it was wonderful to have sex with him, and they had only begun to explore the gay sexuality. There was so much more they could – and would – do. But being so light-hearted around each other, being able to tease and please one another with words and actions was even better than the sex. It showed how close they had become and how great they were feeling in the other man's company.

“I love you, Mycroft,” he said and tickled the hairy chest.

“That is very good, because I love you like crazy. But what do you think – wouldn’t you like to have a drink now on your birthday? I have a bottle of very fine scotch downstairs.”

“That sounds great to me! But who gets up and fetches it?”

Mycroft laughed. “We could spin the bottle to work that out.”

Sherlock sat up. “Fine.” He reached over to the nightstand and took the bottle with the lubricant.

Mycroft chuckled and sat up as well so Sherlock could spin it between them. It pointed more to Mycroft than to him.

“That means I have to go,” Sherlock stated. “You win.”

“Alright. What else does it mean? Slap or kiss?” Mycroft asked with a smile.

“Oh, the majority clearly says – slap!” Sherlock stroke out with his right hand and Mycroft didn’t even wince when his hand moved towards his face. Of course Sherlock stopped the movement in the last second and instead laid his palm on his brother's cheek. Then he bent forward until their lips met.

The kiss was long and tender, and when Sherlock pulled back to breathe, he said: “It's always _kiss_ , brother mine. Always the kiss.”

They only got their drinks an hour and a half later.

The End

 


End file.
